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JU- 


ILittlt 


PROFITABLE    TALES 


BY    EUGENE    FIELD. 


Etttk  Book  of 

PROFITABLE  TALES< 

ILittie  Book  of 

WESTERN  VERSE. 

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Little 


OF 


PROFITABLE   TALES 


BY 


EUGENE     FIELD 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1890 


Copyright,  i88q 
BY  EUGENE  FIELD 


dnifccrsitg 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


TO 

MY  SEVEREST  CRITIC,  MY  MOST  LOYAL  ADMIRER, 
AND  MY  ONLY  DAUGHTER, 

MARY    FRENCH    FIELD, 

THIS  LITTLE  BOOK  OF  PROFITABLE   TALES 
IS 

Stffectionatefp  !®etncateb. 

E.  F. 


272535 


fn  tfjia  ILfttU 


PAGE 

THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 3 

THE  SYMBOL  AND  THE  SAINT 15 

.  THE  COMING  OF  THE  PRINCE 31 

THE  MOUSE  AND  THE  MOONBEAM 51 

THE  DIVELL'S  CHRYSTMASSE 75 

THE  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  SEA 87 

THE  ROBIN  AND  THE  VIOLET 95 

THE  OAK-TREE  AND  THE  IVY 105 

MARGARET:  A  PEARL 115 

THE  SPRINGTIME 135 

RODOLPH  AND  HIS  KlNG 147 

THE  HAMPSHIRE  HILLS 155 

EZRA'S  THANKSGIVIN'  OUT  WEST 167 

LUDWIG  AND  ELOISE 185 

FIDO'S  LITTLE  FRIEND 191: 

THE  OLD  MAN 213 

BILL,  THE  LOKIL  EDITOR 223 

THE  LITTLE  YALLER  BABY 233 

THE  CYCLOPEEDY 245 

DOCK  STEBBINS 257 

THE  FAIRIES  OF  PESTH 269 


t\)t  JFirst  Ctjrtetmas 


THE  FIRST   CHRISTMAS  TREE. 


upon  a  time  the  forest  was  in  a  great 
commotion.  Early  in  the  evening  the 
wise  old  cedars  had  shaken  their  heads  omi 
nously  and  predicted  strange  things.  They 
had  lived  in  the  forest  many,  many  years ;  but 
never  had  they  seen  such  marvellous  sights  as 
were  to  be  seen  now  in  the  sky,  and  upon  the 
hills,  and  in  the  distant  village. 

"  Pray  tell  us  what  you  see,"  pleaded  a  little 
vine ;  "  we  who  are  not  as  tall  as  you  can  be 
hold  none  of  these  wonderful  things.  Describe 
them  to  us,  that  we  may  enjoy  them  with  you." 

"  I  am  filled  with  such  amazement,"  said  one 
of  the  cedars,  "  that  I  can  hardly  speak.  The 
whole  sky  seems  to  be  aflame,  and  the  stars  ap 
pear  to  be  dancing  among  the  clouds ;  angels 
walk  down  from  heaven  to  the  earth,  and  enter 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS    TREE. 


the  village  or  talk  with  the  shepherds  upon  the 
hills." 

The  vine  listened  in  mute  astonishment.  Such 
things  never  before  had  happened.  The  vine 
trembled  with  excitement.  Its  nearest  neigh 
bor  was  a  tiny  tree,  so  small  it  scarcely  ever 
was  noticed ;  yet  it  was  a  very  beautiful  little 
tree,  and  the  vines  and  ferns  and  mosses  and 
other  humble  residents  of  the  forest  loved  it 
dearly. 

"  How  I  should  like  to  see  the  angels  ! "  sighed 
the  little  tree,  "  and  how  I  should  like  to  see  the 
stars  dancing  among  the  clouds  !  It  must  be 
very  beautiful." 

As  the  vine  and  the  little  tree  talked  of  these 
things,  the  cedars  watched  with  increasing  in 
terest  the  wonderful  scenes  over  and  beyond  the 
confines  of  the  forest.  Presently  they  thought 
they  heard  music,  and  they  were  not  mistaken, 
for  soon  the  whole  air  was  full  of  the  sweetest 
harmonies  ever  heard  upon  earth. 

"  What  beautiful  music  !  "  cried  the  little  tree. 
"  I  wonder  whence  it  comes." 

"  The  angels  are  singing,"  said  a  cedar ;  "  for 
none  but  angels  could  make  such  sweet  music." 


THE   FIRST  CHRISTMAS    TREE. 


"  But  the  stars  are  singing,  too,"  said  another 
cedar;  "yes,  and  the  shepherds  on  the  hills 
join  in  the  song,  and  what  a  strangely  glo 
rious  song  it  is  !  " 

The  trees  listened  to  the  singing,  but  they  did 
not  understand  its  meaning :  it  seemed  to  be  an 
anthem,  and  it  was  of  a  Child  that  had  been 
born ;  but  further  than  this  they  did  not  under 
stand.  The  strange  and  glorious  song  con 
tinued  all  the  night;  and  all  that  night  the 
angels  walked  to  and  fro,  and  the  shepherd- 
folk  talked  with  the  angels,  and  the  stars 
danced  and  carolled  in  high  heaven.  And  it 
was  nearly  morning  when  the  cedars  cried 
out,  "  They  are  coming  to  the  forest  !  the  an 
gels  are  coming  to  the  forest  !  "  And,  surely 
enough,  this  was  true.  The  vine  and  the  lit 
tle  tree  were  very  terrified,  and  they  begged 
their  older  and  stronger  neighbors  to  protect 
them  from  harm.  But  the  cedars  were  too 
busy  with  their  own  fears  to  pay  any  heed  to 
the  faint  pleadings  of  the  humble  vine  and  the 
little  tree.  The  angels  came  into  the  forest, 
singing  the  same  glorious  anthem  about  the 
Child,  and  the  stars  sang  in  chorus  with  them, 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS    TREE. 


until  every  part  of  the  woods  rang  with  echoes 
of  that  wondrous  song.  There  was  nothing  in 
the  appearance  of  this  angel  host  to  inspire 
fear ;  they  were  clad  all  in  white,  and  there 
were  crowns  upon  their  fair  heads,  and  golden 
harps  in  their  hands ;  love,  hope,  charity,  com 
passion,  and  joy  beamed  from  their  beautiful 
faces,  and  their  presence  seemed  to  fill  the 
forest  with  a  divine  peace.  The  angels  came 
through  the  forest  to  where  the  little  tree 
stood,  and  gathering  around  it,  they  touched 
it  with  their  hands,  and  kissed  its  little 
branches,  and  sang  even  more  sweetly  than 
before.  And  their  song  was  about  the  Child, 
the  Child,  the  Child  that  had  been  born. 
Then  the  stars  came  down  from  the  skies 
and  danced  and  hung  upon  the  branches  of 
the  tree,  and  they,  too,  sang  that  song,  —  the 
song  of  the  Child.  And  all  the  other  trees 
and  the  vines  and  the  ferns  and  the  mosses  be 
held  in  wonder ;  nor  could  they  understand  why 
all  these  things  were  being  done,  and  why  this 
exceeding  honor  should  be  shown  the  little  tree. 
When  the  morning  came  the  angels  left  the 
forest,  —  all  but  one  angel,  who  remained  be- 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS   TREE. 


hind  and  lingered  near  the  little  tree.  Then  a 
cedar  asked  :  "  Why  do  you  tarry  with  us,  holy 
angel?"  And  the  angel  answered:  "I  stay  to 
guard  this  little  tree,  for  it  is  sacred,  and  no 
harm  shall  come  to  it." 

The  little  tree  felt  quite  relieved  by  this  as 
surance,  and  it  held  up  its  head  more  confi 
dently  than  ever  before.  And  how  it  thrived 
and  grew,  and  waxed  in  strength  and  beauty  ! 
The  cedars  said  they  never  had  seen  the  like. 
The  sun  seemed  to  lavish  its  choicest  rays 
upon  the  little  tree,  heaven  dropped  its  sweet 
est  dew  upon  it,  and  the  winds  never  came  to 
the  forest  that  they  did  not  forget  their  rude 
manners  and  linger  to  kiss  the  little  tree  and 
sing  it  their  prettiest  songs.  No  danger  ever 
menaced  it,  no  harm  threatened ;  for  the  an 
gel  never  slept,  —  through  the  day  and  through 
the  night  the  angel  watched  the  little  tree  and 
protected  it  from  all  evil.  Oftentimes  the  trees 
talked  with  the  angel ;  but  of  course  they  un 
derstood  little  of  what  he  said,  for  he  spoke 
always  of  the  Child  who  was  to  become  the 
Master;  and  always  when  thus  he  talked,  he 
caressed  the  little  tree,  and  stroked  its  branches 


THE   FIRST  CHRISTMAS    TREE. 


and  leaves,  and  moistened  them  with  his  tears. 
It  all  was  so  very  strange  that  none  in  the  for 
est  could  understand. 

So  the  years  passed,  the  angel  watching  his 
blooming  charge.  Sometimes  the  beasts  strayed 
toward  the  little  tree  and  threatened  to  devour 
its  tender  foliage ;  sometimes  the  woodman 
came  with  his  axe,  intent  upon  hewing  down 
the  straight  and  comely  thing;  sometimes  the 
hot,  consuming  breath  of  drought  swept  from 
the  south,  and  sought  to  blight  the  forest  and 
all  its  verdure  :  the  angel  kept  them  from  the 
little  tree.  Serene  and  beautiful  it  grew,  until 
now  it  was  no  longer  a  little  tree,  but  the  pride 
and  glory  of  the  forest. 

One  day  the  tree  heard  some  one  coming 
through  the  forest.  Hitherto  the  angel  had 
hastened  to  its  side  when  men  approached ; 
but  now  the  angel  strode  away  and  stood 
under  the  cedars  yonder. 

"  Dear  angel,"  cried  the  tree,  "  can  you  not 
hear  the  footsteps  of  some  one  approaching? 
Why  do  you  leave  me?" 

"  Have  no  fear,"  said  the  angel ;  "  for  He 
who  comes  is  the  Master." 


THE   FIRST  CHRISTMAS    TREE. 


The  Master  came  to  the  tree  and  beheld  it. 
He  placed  His  hands  upon  its  smooth  trunk 
and  branches,  and  the  tree  was  thrilled  with  a 
strange  and  glorious  delight.  Then  He  stooped 
and  kissed  the  tree,  and  then  He  turned  and 
went  away. 

Many  times  after  that  the  Master  came  to  the 
forest,  and  when  He  came  it  always  was  to  where 
the  tree  stood.  Many  times  He  rested  beneath 
the  tree  and  enjoyed  the  shade  of  its  foliage, 
and  listened  to  the  music  of  the  wind  as  it 
swept  through  the  rustling  leaves.  Many  times 
He  slept  there,  and  the  tree  watched  over  Him, 
and  the  forest  was  still,  and  all  its  voices  were 
hushed.  And  the  angel  hovered  near  like  a 
faithful  sentinel. 

Ever  and  anon  men  came  with  the  Master  to 
the  forest,  and  sat  with  Him  in  the  shade  of 
the  tree,  and  talked  with  Him  of  matters  which 
the  tree  never  could  understand  ;  only  it  heard 
that  the  talk  was  of  love  and  charity  and  gen 
tleness,  and  it  saw  that  the  Master  was  beloved 
and  venerated  by  the  others.  It  heard  them  tell 
of  the  Master's  goodness  and  humility,  —  how 
He  had  healed  the  sick  and  raised  the  dead 


10  THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS    TREE. 

and  bestowed  inestimable  blessings  wherever 
He  walked.  And  the  tree  loved  the  Master 
for  His  beauty  and  His  goodness;  and  when 
He  came  to  the  forest  it  was  full  of  joy,  but 
when  He  came  not  it  was  sad.  And  the  other 
trees  of  the  forest  joined  in  its  happiness  and 
its  sorrow,  for  they,  too,  loved  the  Master.  And 
the  angel  always  hovered  near. 

The  Master  came  one  night  alone  into  the 
forest,  and  His  face  was  pale  with  anguish  and 
wet  with  tears,  and  He  fell  upon  His  knees  and 
prayed.  The  tree  heard  Him,  and  all  the  for 
est  was  still,  as  if  it  were  standing  in  the  pres 
ence  of  death.  And  when  the  morning  came, 
lo  !  the  angel  had  gone. 

Then  there  was  a  great  confusion  in  the  for 
est.  There  was  a  sound  of  rude  voices,  and  a 
clashing  of  swords  and  staves.  Strange  men 
appeared,  uttering  loud  oaths  and  cruel  threats, 
and  the  tree  was  filled  with  terror.  It  called 
aloud  for  the  angel,  but  the  angel  came  not. 

''Alas,"  cried  the  vine,  "they  have  come  to  de 
stroy  the  tree,  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  forest !  " 

The  forest  was  sorely  agitated,  but  it  was  in 
vain.  The  strange  men  plied  their  axes  with 


THE    FIRST  CHRISTMAS    TREE. 


cruel  vigor,  and  the  tree  was  hewn  to  the 
ground.  Its  beautiful  branches  were  cut  away 
and  cast  aside,  and  its  soft,  thick  foliage  was 
strewn  to  the  tenderer  mercies  of  the  winds. 

"  They  are  killing  me  !  "  cried  the  tree  ; 
"why  is  not  the  angel  here  to  protect  me?" 

But  no  one  heard  the  piteous  cry,  —  none 
but  the  other  trees  of  the  forest  ;  and  they  wept, 
and  the  little  vine  wept  too. 

Then  the  cruel  men  dragged  the  despoiled 
and  hewn  tree  from  the  forest,  and  the  forest 
saw  that  beauteous  thing  no  more. 

But  the  night  wind  that  swept  down  from  the 
City  of  the  Great  King  that  night  to  ruffle  the 
bosom  of  distant  Galilee,  tarried  in  the  forest 
awhile  to  say  that  it  had  seen  that  day  a  cross 
upraised  on  Calvary,  —  the  tree  on  which  was 
stretched  the  body  of  the  dying  Master. 

1884. 


ana  ttje  £>aint. 


THE  SYMBOL  AND    THE  SAINT. 


upon  a  time  a  young  man  made 
ready  for  a  voyage.  His  name  was  Norss  ; 
broad  were  his  shoulders,  his  cheeks  were 
ruddy,  his  hair  was  fair  and  long,  his  body  be 
tokened  strength,  and  good-nature  shone  from 
his  blue  eyes  and  lurked  about  the  corners 
of  his  mouth. 

"Where  are  you  going?  "  asked  his  neighbor 
Jans,  the  forge-master. 

"  I  am  going  sailing  for  a  wife,"  said  Norss. 

"  For  a  wife,  indeed!"  cried  Jans.  "And 
why  go  you  to  seek  her  in  foreign  lands  ?  Are 
not  our  maidens  good  enough  and  fair  enough, 
that  you  must  need  search  for  a  wife  else 
where?  For  shame,  Norss  !  for  shame  !  " 

But  Norss  said,  "A  spirit  came  to  me  in 
my  dreams  last  night  and  said,  '  Launch  the 


1 6  THE   SYMBOL   AND    THE  SAINT. 

boat  and  set  sail  to-morrow.  Have  no  fear; 
for  I  will  guide  you  to  the  bride  that  awaits 
you.'  Then,  standing  there,  all  white  and 
beautiful,  the  spirit  held  forth  a  symbol  —  such 
as  I  had  never  before  seen  —  in  the  figure  of 
a  cross,  and  the  spirit  said  :  '  By  this  symbol 
shall  she  be  known  to  you.'  " 

"  If  this  be  so,  you  must  need  go,"  said  Jans. 
"  But  are  you  well  victualled  ?  Come  to  my 
cabin,  and  let  me  give  you  venison  and  bear's 
meat." 

Norss  shook  his  head.  "  The  spirit  will  pro 
vide,"  said  he.  "  I  have  no  fear,  and  I  shall 
take  no  care,  trusting  in  the  spirit." 

So  Norss  pushed  his  boat  down  the  beach 
into  the  sea,  and  leaped  into  the  boat,  and 
unfurled  the  sail  to  the  wind.  Jans  stood  won 
dering  on  the  beach,  and  watched  the  boat 
speed  out  of  sight. 

On,  on,  many  days  on  sailed  Norss,  —  so 
many  leagues  that  he  thought  he  must  have 
compassed  the  earth.  In  all  this  time  he 
knew  no  hunger  nor  thirst ;  it  was  as  the  spirit 
had  told  him  in  his  dream,  —  no  cares  nor 
dangers  beset  him.  By  day  the  dolphins  and 


THE   SYMBOL   AND    THE   SAINT.  I? 

the  other  creatures  of  the  sea  gambolled  about 
his  boat;  by  night  a  beauteous  Star  seemed 
to  direct  his  course;  and  when  he  slept  and 
dreamed,  he  saw  ever  the  spirit  clad  in  white, 
and  holding  forth  to  him  the  symbol  in  the 
similitude  of  a  cross. 

At  last  he  came  to  a  strange  country,  —  a 
country  so  very  different  from  his  own  that  he 
could  scarcely  trust  his  senses.  Instead  of  the 
rugged  mountains  of  the  North,  he  saw  a  gen 
tle  landscape  of  velvety  green ;  the  trees  were 
not  pines  and  firs,  but  cypresses,  cedars,  and 
palms;  instead  of  the  cold,  crisp  air  of  his 
native  land,  he  scented  the  perfumed  zephyrs 
of  the  Orient ;  and  the  wind  that  filled  the  sail 
of  his  boat  and  smote  his  tanned  cheeks  was 
heavy  and  hot  with  the  odor  of  cinnamon  and 
spices.  The  waters  were  calm  and  blue,  — 
very  different  from  the  white  and  angry  waves 
of  Norss's  native  fiord. 

As  if  guided  by  an  unseen  hand,  the  boat 
pointed  straight  for  the  beach  of  this  strangely 
beautiful  land ;  and  ere  its  prow  cleaved  the 
shallower  waters,  Norss  saw  a  maiden  stand 
ing  on  the  shore,  shading  her  eyes  with  her 


i8 


THE   SYMBOL   AND    THE   SAINT. 


right  hand,  and  gazing  intently  at  him.  She 
was  the  most  beautiful  maiden  he  had  ever 
looked  upon.  As  Norss  was  fair,  so  was  this 
maiden  dark ;  her  black  hair  fell  loosely  about 
her  shoulders  in  charming  contrast  with  the 
white  raiment  in  which  her  slender,  graceful 
form  was  clad.  Around  her  neck  she  wore  a 
golden  chain,  and  therefrom  was  suspended  a 
small  symbol,  which  Norss  did  not  immediately 
recognize. 

"  Hast  thou  come  sailing  out  of  the  North 
into  the  East?"  asked  the  maiden. 

"Yes,"  said  Norss. 

"And  thou  art  Norss?  "  she  asked. 

"I  am  Norss;  and  I  come  seeking  my 
bride,"  he  answered. 

"I  am  she,"  said  the  maiden.  "My  name 
is  Faia.  An  angel  came  to  me  in  my  dreams 
last  night,  and  the  angel  said :  '  Stand  upon 
the  beach  to-day,  and  Norss  shall  come  out  of 
the  North  to  bear  thee  home  a  bride.'  So,  com 
ing  here,  I  found  thee  sailing  to  our  shore." 

Remembering  then  the  spirit's  words,  Norss 
said :  "  What  symbol  have  you,  Faia,  that  I 
may  know  how  truly  you  have  spoken?" 


THE  SYMBOL   AND    THE   SAINT.  1 9 

"  No  symbol  have  I  but  this,"  said  Faia, 
holding  out  the  symbol  that  was  attached  to 
the  golden  chain  about  her  neck.  Norss 
looked  upon  it,  and  lo  !  it  was  the  symbol 
of  his  dreams,  —  a  tiny  wooden  cross. 

Then  Norss  clasped  Faia  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her,  and  entering  into  the  boat  they 
sailed  away  into  the  North.  In  all  their  voy 
age  neither  care  nor  danger  beset  them  ;  for 
as  it  had  been  told  to  them  in  their  dreams, 
so  it  came  to  pass.  By  day  the  dolphins  and 
the  other  creatures  of  the  sea  gambolled  about 
them ;  by  night  the  winds  and  the  waves  sang 
them  to  sleep ;  and,  strangely  enough,  the  Star 
which  before  had  led  Norss  into  the  East,  now 
shone  bright  and  beautiful  in  the  Northern  sky  ! 

When  Norss  and  his  bride  reached  their 
home,  Jans,  the  forge-master,  and  the  other 
neighbors  made  great  joy,  and  all  said  that 
Faia  was  more  beautiful  than  any  other 
maiden  in  the  land.  So  merry  was  Jans  that 
he  built  a  huge  fire  in  his  forge,  and  the  flames 
thereof  filled  the  whole  Northern  sky  with  rays 
of  light  that  danced  up,  up,  up  to  the  Star, 
singing  glad  songs  the  while.  So  Norss  and 


20  THE   SYMBOL   AND    THE   SAINT. 

Faia  were  wed,  and   they  went  to  live  in  the 
cabin  in  the  fir-grove. 

To  these  two  was  born  in  good  time  a  son, 
whom  they  named  Clans.  On  the  night  that 
he  was  born  wondrous  things  came  to  pass. 
To  the  cabin  in  the  fir-grove  came  all  the 
quaint,  weird  spirits,  —  the  fairies,  the  elves, 
the  trolls,  the  pixies,  the  fadas,  the  crions, 
the  goblins,  the  kobolds,  the  moss-people,  the 
gnomes,  the  dwarfs,  the  water-sprites,  the  cour- 
ils,  the  bogles,  the  brownies,  the  nixies,  the 
trows,  the  stille-volk,  —  all  came  to  the  cabin 
in  the  fir-grove,  and  capered  about  and  sang 
the  strange,  beautiful  songs  of  the  Mist-Land. 
And  the  flames  of  old  Jans's  forge  leaped  up 
higher  than  ever  into  the  Northern  sky,  carry 
ing  the  joyous  tidings  to  the  Star,  and  full  of 
music  was  that  happy  night. 

Even  in  infancy  Glaus  did  marvellous  things. 
With  his  baby  hands  he  wrought  into  pretty 
figures  the  willows  that  were  given  him  to  play 
with.  As  he  grew  older,  he  fashioned,  with  the 
knife  old  Jans  had  made  for  him,  many  curious 
toys,  —  carts,  horses,  dogs,  lambs,  houses,  trees, 
cats,  and  birds,  all  of  wood  and  very  like  to 


THE   SYMBOL   AND    THE   SAINT.  21 

nature.  His  mother  taught  him  how  to  make 
dolls  too,  —  dolls  of  every  kind,  condition, 
temper,  and  color;  proud  dolls,  homely  dolls, 
boy  dolls,  lady  dolls,  wax  dolls,  rubber  dolls, 
paper  dolls,  worsted  dolls,  rag  dolls,  —  dolls 
of  every  description  and  without  end.  So 
Claus  became  at  once  quite  as  popular  with 
the  little  girls  as  with  the  little  boys  of  his 
native  village;  for  he  was  so  generous  that 
he  gave  away  all  these  pretty  things  as  fast 
as  he  made  them. 

Claus  seemed  to  know  by  instinct  every  lan 
guage.  As  he  grew  older  he  would  ramble  off 
into  the  woods  and  talk  with  the  trees,  the 
rocks,  and  the  beasts  of  the  greenwood;  or 
he  would  sit  on  the  cliffs  overlooking  the  fiord, 
and  listen  to  the  stories  that  the  waves  of  the 
sea  loved  to  tell  him ;  then,  too,  he  knew  the 
haunts  of  the  elves  and  the  stille-volk,  and 
many  a  pretty  tale  he  learned  from  these  lit 
tle  people.  When  night  came,  old  Jans  told 
him  the  quaint  legends  of  the  North,  and  his 
mother  sang  to  him  the  lullabies  she  had 
heard  when  a  little  child  herself  in  the  far- 
distant  East.  And  every  night  his  mother 


22  THE   SYMBOL   AND    THE   SAINT. 

held  out  to  him  the  symbol  in  the  similitude 
of  the  cross,  and  bade  him  kiss  it  ere  he  went 
to  sleep. 

So  Glaus  grew  to  manhood,  increasing  each 
day  in  knowledge  and  in  wisdom.     His  works 
increased    too ;    and    his    liberality    dispensed 
everywhere    the    beauteous    things    which    his 
fancy  conceived  and  his  skill  executed.     Jans, 
being  now  a  very  old  man,  and  having  no  son 
of  his  own,  gave  to  Claus  his  forge  and  work 
shop,  and  taught    him   those  secret  arts  which 
he    in  youth  had    learned   from   cunning    mas 
ters.     Right  joyous  now  was  Claus ;  and  many, 
many  times  the  Northern  sky  glowed  with   the 
flames    that    danced    singing    from    the    forge 
while  Claus   moulded   his   pretty  toys.      Every 
color    of  the    rainbow  were    these    flames ;  for 
they  reflected  the  bright  colors  of  the  beaute 
ous  things  strewn  round    that  wonderful  work 
shop.     Just  as  of  old  he  had  dispensed  to  all 
children  alike  the  homelier  toys  of  his  youth, 
so    now    he    gave    to    all    children    alike    these 
more    beautiful    and    more    curious    gifts.      So 
little  children  everywhere  loved  Claus,  because 
he    gave   them    pretty   toys,   and    their   parents 


THE   SYMBOL   AND    THE   SAINT. 


loved    him    because    he  made    their  little  ones 
so  happy. 

But  now  Norss  and  Faia  were  come  to  old 
age.  After  long  years  of  love  and  happiness, 
they  knew  that  death  could  not  be  far  distant. 
And  one  day  Faia  said  to  Norss:  "Neither 
you  nor  I,  dear  love,  fear  death ;  but  if  we 
could  choose,  would  we  not  choose  to  live 
always  in  this  our  son  Glaus,  who  has  been 
so  sweet  a  joy  to  us?" 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Norss;  "but  how  is  that 
possible?" 

"We  shall  see,"  said  Faia. 

That  night  Norss  dreamed  that  a  spirit 
came  to  him,  and  that  the  spirit  said  to  him  : 
"Norss,  thou  shalt  surely  live  forever  in  thy 
son  Glaus,  if  thou  wilt  but  acknowledge  the 
symbol." 

Then  when  the  morning  was  come  Norss 
told  his  dream  to  Faia,  his  wife;  and  Faia 
said,  — 

"  The  same  dream  had  I,  —  an  angel  appear 
ing  to  me  and  speaking  these  very  words." 

"  But  what  of  the  symbol?  "  cried  Norss. 

"  I  have  it  here,  about  my  neck,"  said  Faia. 


24  THE  SYMBOL    AND    THE   SAINT. 

So  saying,  Faia  drew  from  her  bosom  the 
symbol  of  wood,  —  a  tiny  cross  suspended 
about  her  neck  by  the  golden  chain.  And  as 
she  stood  there  holding  the  symbol  out  to 
Norss,  he  —  he  thought  of  the  time  when  first 
he  saw  her  on  the  far-distant  Orient  shore, 
standing  beneath  the  Star  in  all  her  maidenly 
glory,  shading  her  beauteous  eyes  with  one 
hand,  and  with  the  other  clasping  the  cross, 

—  the  holy  talisman  of  her  faith. 

"  Faia,  Faia  !  "  cried  Norss,  "  it  is  the  same, 

—  the   same  you  wore   when  I  fetched   you   a 
bride  from  the  East !  " 

"  It  is  the  same,"  said  Faia,  "  yet  see  how 
my  kisses  and  my  prayers  have  worn  it  away ; 
for  many,  many  times  in  these  years,  dear 
Norss,  have  I  pressed  it  to  my  lips  and 
breathed  your  name  upon  it.  See  now  —  see 
what  a  beauteous  light  its  shadow  makes  upon 
your  aged  face  !  " 

The  sunbeams,  indeed,  streaming  through  the 
window  at  that  moment,  cast  the  shadow  of  the 
symbol  on  old  Norss's  brow.  Norss  felt  a  glo 
rious  warmth  suffuse  him,  his  heart  leaped  with 
joy,  and  he  stretched  out  his  arms  and  fell 


THE   SYMBOL   AND    THE   SAINT.  25 

about  Faia's  neck,  and  kissed  the  symbol  and 
acknowledged  it.  Then  likewise  did  Faia ;  and 
suddenly  the  place  was  filled  with  a  wondrous 
brightness  and  with  strange  music,  and  never 
thereafter  were  Norss  and  Faia  beholden  of  men. 

Until  late  that  night  Glaus  toiled  at  his  forge  ; 
for  it  was  a  busy  season  with  him,  and  he  had 
many,  many  curious  and  beauteous  things  to 
make  for  the  little  children  in  the  country 
round  about.  The  colored  flames  leaped  sing 
ing  from  his  forge,  so  that  the  Northern  sky 
seemed  to  be  lighted  by  a  thousand  rainbows ; 
but  above  all  this  voiceful  glory  beamed  the 
Star,  bright,  beautiful,  serene. 

Coming  late  to  the  cabin  in  the  fir- grove, 
Claus  wondered  that  no  sign  of  his  father  or 
of  his  mother  was  to  be  seen.  "Father  — 
mother ! "  he  cried,  but  he  received  no  an 
swer.  Just  then  the  Star  cast  its  golden  gleam 
through  the  latticed  window,  and  this  strange, 
holy  light  fell  and  rested  upon  the  symbol  of 
the  cross  that  lay  upon  the  floor.  Seeing  it, 
Claus  stooped  and  picked  it  up,  and  kissing 
it  reverently,  he  cried  :  "  Dear  talisman,  be  thou 
my  inspiration  evermore ;  and  wheresoever  thy 


26  THE   SYMBOL   AND    THE   SAINT. 

blessed  influence  is  felt,  there  also  let  my  works 
be  known  henceforth  forever  !  " 

No  sooner  had  he  said  these  words  than 
Claus  felt  the  gift  of  immortality  bestowed 
upon  him ;  and  in  that  moment,  too,  there 
came  to  him  a  knowledge  that  his  parents' 
prayer  had  been  answered,  and  that  Norss 
and  Faia  would  live  in  him  through  all  time. 

And  lo  !  to  that  place  and  in  that  hour  came 
all  the  people  of  Mist- Land  and  of  Dream-Land 
to  declare  allegiance  to  him :  yes,  the  elves, 
the  fairies,  the  pixies,  —  all  came  to  Claus, 
prepared  to  do  his  bidding.  Joyously  they  ca 
pered  about  him,  and  merrily  they  sang. 

"  Now  haste  ye  all,"  cried  Claus,  —  "  haste  ye 
all  to  your  homes  and  bring  to  my  workshop 
the  best  ye  have.  Search,  little  hill-people, 
deep  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth  for  finest  gold 
and  choicest  jewels ;  fetch  me,  O  mermaids, 
from  the  bottom  of  the  sea  the  treasures  hid 
den  there,  —  the  shells  of  rainbow  tints,  the 
smooth,  bright  pebbles,  and  the  strange  ocean 
flowers ;  go,  pixies,  and  other  water- sprites, 
to  your  secret  lakes,  and  bring  me  pearls ! 
Speed  !  speed  you  all !  for  many  pretty  things 


THE  SYMBOL   AND    THE   SAINT.  27 

have  we  to  make  for  the  little  ones  of  earth 
we  love  ! " 

But  to  the  kobolds  and  the  brownies  Glaus 
said :  "  Fly  to  every  house  on  earth  where  the 
cross  is  known ;  loiter  unseen  in  the  corners, 
and  watch  and  hear  the  children  through  the 
day.  Keep  a  strict  account  of  good  and  bad, 
and  every  night  bring  back  to  me  the  names  of 
good  and  bad,  that  I  may  know  them." 

The  kobolds  and  the  brownies  laughed  glee 
fully,  and  sped  away  on  noiseless  wings;  and 
so,  too,  did  the  other  fairies  and  elves. 

There  came  also  to  Claus  the  beasts  of  the 
forest  and  the  birds  of  the  air,  and  bade  him  be 
their  master.  And  up  danced  the  Four  Winds, 
and  they  said  :  "  May  we  not  serve  you,  too?  " 

The  Snow  King  came  stealing  along  in  his 
feathery  chariot.  "  Oho  !  "  he  cried,  "  I  shall 
speed  over  all  the  world  and  tell  them  you  are 
coming.  In  town  and  country,  on  the  mountain- 
tops  and  in  the  valleys,  —  wheresoever  the  cross 
is  raised,  —  there  will  I  herald  your  approach, 
and  thither  will  I  strew  you  a  pathway  of  feath 
ery  white.  Oho  !  oho  !  "  So,  singing  softly, 
the  Snow  King  stole  upon  his  way. 


28  THE  SYMBOL   AND    THE  SAINT. 

But  of  all  the  beasts  that  begged  to  do  him 
service,  Clans  liked  the  reindeer  best.  "You 
shall  go  with  me  in  my  travels ;  for  henceforth 
I  shall  bear  my  treasures  not  only  to  the  chil 
dren  of  the  North,  but  to  the  children  in  every 
land  whither  the  Star  points  me  and  where  the 
cross  is  lifted  up  !  "  So  said  Claus  to  the  rein 
deer,  and  the  reindeer  neighed  joyously  and 
stamped  their  hoofs  impatiently,  as  though  they 
longed  to  start  immediately. 

Oh,  many,  many  times  has  Claus  whirled 
away  from  his  far  Northern  home  in  his  sledge 
drawn  by  the  reindeer,  and  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  beautiful  gifts  —  all  of  his  own 
making  —  has  he  borne  to  the  children  of  every 
land ;  for  he  loves  them  all  alike,  and  they  all 
alike  love  him,  I  trow.  So  truly  do  they  love 
him .  that  they  call  him  Santa  Claus,  and  I  am 
sure  that  he  must  be  a  saint ;  for  he  has  lived 
these  many  hundred  years,  and  we,  who  know 
that  he  was  born  of  Faith  and  Love,  believe 
that  he  will  live  forever. 

1886. 


Coming  of  tfje  prince* 


* 


THE   COMING  OF   THE  PRINCE. 


I. 

"  \A7HIRR~R~R !  whirr"r"r !  whirr-r-r ! " 

said  the  wind,  and  it  tore  through  the 
streets  of  the  city  that  Christmas  eve,  turning 
umbrellas  inside  out,  driving  the  snow  in  fitful 
gusts  before  it,  creaking  the  nisty  signs  and 
shutters,  and  playing  every  kind  of  rude  prank 
it  could  think  of. 

"  How  cold  your  breath  is  to-night ! "  said 
Barbara,  with  a  shiver,  as  she  drew  her  tattered 
little  shawl  the  closer  around  her  benumbed 
body. 

"Whirr-r-r  !  whirr-r-r  !  whirr-r-r  !  "  answered 
the  wind  ;  "  but  why  are  you  out  in  this  storm  ? 
You  should  be  at  home  by  the  warm  fire." 

"  I  have  no  home,"  said  Barbara ;  and  then 
she  sighed  bitterly,  and  something  like  a  tiny 
pearl  came  in  the  corner  of  one  of  her  sad  blue 
eyes. 


32  THE    COATING  OF   THE   PRINCE. 

But  the  wind  did  not  hear  her  answer,  for  it 
had  hurried  up  the  street  to  throw  a  handful  of 
snow  in  the  face  of  an  old  man  who  was  strug 
gling  along  with  a  huge  basket  of  good  things 
on  each  arm. 

"Why  are  you  not  at  the  cathedral?"  asked 
a  snowflake,  as  it  alighted  on  Barbara's  shoul 
der.  "  I  heard  grand  music,  and  saw  beautiful 
lights  there  as  I  floated  down  from  the  sky  a 
moment  ago." 

"  What  are  they  doing  at  the  cathedral  ?  " 
inquired  Barbara. 

"Why,  haven't  you  heard?"  exclaimed  the 
snowflake.  « I  supposed  everybody  knew  that 
the  prince  was  coming  to-morrow." 

"  Surely  enough ;  this  is  Christmas  eve,"  said 
Barbara,  "and  the  prince  will  come  to-morrow." 

Barbara  remembered  that  her  mother  had 
told  her  about  the  prince,  how  beautiful  and 
good  and  kind  and  gentle  he  was,  and  how  he 
loved  the  little  children ;  but  her  mother  was 
dead  now,  and  there  was  none  to  tell  Barbara  of 
the  prince  and  his  coming,  —  none  but  the  little 
snowflake. 

"I  should  like  to  see  the  prince,"  said  Bar- 


THE    COMING   OF   THE   PRINCE.  33 


bara,  "for  I  have  heard  he  was  very  beautiful 
and  good." 

"  That  he  is,"  said  the  snow-flake.  "  I  have 
never  seen  him,  but  I  heard  the  pines  and  the 
firs  singing  about  him  as  I  floated  over  the 
forest  to-night." 

"Whirr-r-r!  whirr-r-r  !  "  cried  the  wind,  re 
turning  boisterously  to  where  Barbara  stood. 
"  I  Ve  been  looking  for  you  everywhere,  little 
snowflake  !  So  come  with  me." 

And  without  any  further  ado,  the  wind  seized 
upon  the  snowflake  and  hurried  it  along  the 
street  and  led  it  a  merry  dance  through  the  icy 
air  of  the  winter  night. 

Barbara  trudged  on  through  the  snow  and 
looked  in  at  the  bright  things  in  the  shop  win 
dows.  The  glitter  of  the  lights  and  the  sparkle 
of  the  vast  array  of  beautiful  Christmas  toys 
quite  dazzled  her.  A  strange  mingling  of  admi 
ration,  regret,  and  envy  filled  the  poor  little 
creature's  heart. 

"  Much  as  I  may  yearn  to  have  them,  it  can 
not  be,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  yet  I  may  feast 
my  eyes  upon  them." 

"  Go  away  from  here  !  "  said  a  harsh  voice. 


34  THE    COMING  OF   THE   PRINCE. 

"  How  can  the  rich  people  see  all  my  fine  things 
if  you  stand  before  the  window?  Be  off  with 
you,  you  miserable  little  beggar  !  " 

It  was  the  shop-keeper,  and  he  gave  Barbara 
a  savage  box  on  the  ear  that  sent  her  reeling 
into  the  deeper  snowdrifts  of  the  gutter. 

Presently  she  came  to  a  large  house  where 
there  seemed  to  be  much  mirth  and  festivity. 
The  shutters  were  thrown  open,  and  through  the 
windows  Barbara  could  see  a  beautiful  Christ 
mas  tree  in  the  centre  of  a  spacious  room,  —  a 
beautiful  Christmas  tree  ablaze  with  red  and 
green  lights,  and  heavy  with  toys  and  stars  and 
glass  balls,  and  other  beautiful  things  that  chil 
dren  love.  There  was  a  merry  throng  around 
the  tree,  and  the  children  were  smiling  and  glee 
ful,  and  all  in  that  house  seemed  content  and 
happy.  Barbara  heard  them  singing,  and  their 
song  was  about  the  prince  who  was  to  come  on 
the  morrow. 

"This  must  be  the  house  where  the  prince 
will  stop,"  thought  Barbara.  "  How  I  would 
like  to  see  his  face  and  hear  his  voice  !  —  yet 
what  would  he  care  for  me,  a  '  miserable  little 
beggar'?" 


THE   COMING  OF  THE  PRINCE.  35 

So  Barbara  crept  on  through  the  storm,  shiv 
ering  and  disconsolate,  yet  thinking  of  the 
prince. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  asked  of  the 
wind  as  it  overtook  her. 

"To  the  cathedral,"  laughed  the  wind.  "The 
great  people  are  flocking  there,  and  I  will  have 
a  merry  time  amongst  them,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

And  with  laughter  the  wind  whirled  away  and 
chased  the  snow  toward  the  cathedral. 

"  It  is  there,  then,  that  the  prince  will  come," 
thought  Barbara.  "  It  is  a  beautiful  place,  and 
the  people  will  pay  him  homage  there.  Per 
haps  I  shall  see  him  if  I  go  there." 

So  she  went  to  the  cathedral.  Many  folk 
were  there  in  their  richest  apparel,  and  the 
organ  rolled  out  its  grand  music,  and  the  people 
sang  wondrous  songs,  and  the  priests  made  elo 
quent  prayers;  and  the  music,  and  the  songs, 
and  the  prayers  were  all  about  the  prince  and 
his  expected  coming.  The  throng  that  swept  in 
and  out  of  the  great  edifice  talked  always  of 
the  prince,  the  prince,  the  prince,  until  Barbara 
really  loved  him  very  much,  for  all  the  gentle 
words  she  heard  the  people  say  of  him. 


36  THE    COMING  OF   THE  PRINCE. 

"Please,  can  I  go  and  sit  inside?"  inquired 
Barbara  of  the  sexton. 

"  No  !  "  said  the  sexton,  gruffly,  for  this  was 
an  important  occasion  with  the  sexton,  and  he 
had  no  idea  of  wasting  words  on  a  beggar 
child. 

"  But  I  will  be  very  good  and  quiet,"  pleaded 
Barbara.  "  Please  may  I  not  see  the  prince?  " 

"  I  have  said  no,  and  I  mean  it,"  retorted 
the  sexton.  "  What  have  you  for  the  prince,  or 
what  cares  the  prince  for  you  ?  Out  with  you, 
and  don't  be  blocking  up  the  doorway  !  "  So 
the  sexton  gave  Barbara  an  angry  push,  and  the 
child  fell  half-way  down  the  icy  steps  of  the 
cathedral.  She  began  to  cry.  Some  great  peo 
ple  were  entering  the  cathedral  at  the  time,  and 
they  laughed  to  see  her  falling. 

"Have  you  seen  the  prince?"  inquired  a 
snowflake,  alighting  on  Barbara's  cheek.  It  was 
the  same  little  snowflake  that  had  clung  to  her 
shawl  an  hour  ago,  when  the  wind  came  gallop 
ing  along  on  his  boisterous  search. 

"  Ah,  no  !  "  sighed  Barbara,  in  tears  ;  "  but 
what  cares  the  prince  for  me  ?  " 

"  Do  not  speak  so  bitterly,"   said  the  little 


THE   COMING  OF  THE   PRINCE.  37 

snowflake.  "  Go  to  the  forest  and  you  shall  see 
him,  for  the  prince  always  comes  through  the 
forest  to  the  city." 

Despite  the  cold,  and  her  bruises,  and  her 
tears,  Barbara  smiled.  In  the  forest  she  could 
behold  the  prince  coming  on  his  way ;  and  he 
would  not  see  her,  for  she  would  hide  among 
the  trees  and  vines. 

"  Whirr-r-  r,  whirr-r-r  !  "  It  was  the  mischiev 
ous,  romping  wind  once  more  ;  and  it  fluttered 
Barbara's  tattered  shawl,  and  set  her  hair  to 
streaming  in  every  direction,  and  swept  the 
snowflake  from  her  cheek  and  sent  it  spinning 
through  the  air. 

Barbara  trudged  toward  the  forest.  When 
she  came  to  the  city  gate  the  watchman  stopped 
her,  and  held  his  big  lantern  in  her  face,  and 
asked  her  who  she  was  and  where  she  was 
going. 

"I  am  Barbara,  and  I  am  going  into  the  for 
est,"  said  she,  boldly. 

"Into  the  forest?"  cried  the  watchman, 
"  and  in  this  storm  ?  No,  child ;  you  will 
perish  !  " 

"  But  I  am  going  to   see   the    prince,"  said 


38  THE    COMING  OF   THE   PRINCE. 

Barbara.  "  They  will  not  let  me  watch  for  him 
in  the  church,  nor  in  any  of  their  pleasant 
homes,  so  I  am  going  into  the  forest." 

The  watchman  smiled  sadly.  He  was  a 
kindly  man ;  he  thought  of  his  own  little  girl 
at  home. 

"  No,  you  must  not  go  to  the  forest,"  said  he, 
"  for  you  would  perish  with  the  cold." 

But  Barbara  would  not  stay.  She  avoided 
the  watchman's  grasp  and  ran  as  fast  as  ever 
she  could  through  the  city  gate. 

"  Come  back,  come  back  !  "  cried  the  watch 
man  ;  "  you  will  perish  in  the  forest !  " 

But  Barbara  would  not  heed  his  cry.  The 
falling  snow  did  not  stay  her,  nor  did  the  cut 
ting  blast.  She  thought  only  of  the  prince,  and 
she  ran  straightway  to  the  forest. 

II. 

"WHAT  do  you  see  up  there,  O  pine-tree?" 
asked  a  little  vine  in  the  forest.  "You  lift 
your  head  among  the  clouds  to-night,  and 
you  tremble  strangely  as  if  you  saw  wondrous 

sights." 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  PRINCE.       39 

"I  see  only  the  distant  hill-tops  and  the  dark 
clouds,"  answered  the  pine-tree.  "  And  the  wind 
sings  of  the  snow-king  to-night ;  to  all  my 
questionings  he  says,  '  Snow,  snow,  snow, '  till  I 
am  wearied  with  his  refrain." 

"  But  the  prince  will  surely  come  to 
morrow?"  inquired  the  tiny  snowdrop  that 
nestled  close  to  the  vine. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  vine.  "  I  heard  the 
country  folks  talking  about  it  as  they  went 
through  the  forest  to-day,  and  they  said  that 
the  prince  would  surely  come  on  the  morrow." 

"  What  are  you  little  folks  down  there  talking 
about?  "  asked  the  pine-tree. 

"  We  are  talking  about  the  prince,"  said  the 
vine. 

"  Yes,  he  is  to  come  on  the  morrow,"  said 
the  pine-tree,  "  but  not  until  the  day  dawns,  and 
it  is  still  all  dark  in  the  east." 

"Yes,"  said  the  fir-tree,  "the  east  is  black, 
and  only  the  wind  and  the  snow  issue  from 
it." 

'  Keep  your  head  out  of  my  way  !  "  cried  the 
pine-tree  to  the  fir  ;  "  with  your  constant  bob 
bing  around  I  can  hardly  see  at  all." 


40  THE    COMING  OF   THE   PRINCE. 

"Take  that  for  your  bad  manners,"  retorted 
the  fir,  slapping  the  pine-tree  savagely  with  one 
of  her  longest  branches. 

The  pine-tree  would  put  up  with  no  such 
treatment,  so  he  hurled  his  largest  cone  at  the 
fir ;  and  for  a  moment  or  two  it  looked  as  if 
there  were  going  to  be  a  serious  commotion  in 
the  forest. 

"  Hush  ! "  cried  the  vine  in  a  startled 
tone ;  "  there  is  some  one  coming  through 
the  forest." 

The  pine-tree  and  the  fir  stopped  quarrelling, 
and  the  snowdrop  nestled  closer  to  the  vine, 
while  the  vine  hugged  the  pine-tree  very  tightly. 
All  were  greatly  alarmed. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  the  pine-tree,  in  a  tone  of 
assumed  bravery.  "  No  one  would  venture  into 
the  forest  at  such  an  hour." 

"Indeed!  and  why  not?"  cried  a  child's 
voice.  "Will  you  not  let  me  watch  with  you 
for  the  coming  of  the  prince  ?  " 

"  Will  you  not  chop  me  down?  "  inquired  the 
pine-tree,  gruffly. 

"  Will  you  not  tear  me  from  my  tree?  "  asked 
the  vine. 


THE   COMING  OF   THE   PRINCE.  41 

"Will  you  not  pluck  my  blossoms?"  plain 
tively  piped  the  snowdrop. 

"No,  of  course  not,"  said  Barbara;  "  I  have 
come  only  to  watch  with  you  for  the  prince." 

Then  Barbara  told  them  who  she  was,  and 
how  cruelly  she  had  been  treated  in  the  city, 
and  how  she  longed  to  see  the  prince,  who  was 
to  come  on  the  morrow.  And  as  she  talked, 
the  forest  and  all  therein  felt  a  great  compas 
sion  for  her. 

"  Lie  at  my  feet,"  said  the  pine-tree,  "  and  I 
will  protect  you." 

"  Nestle  close  to  me,  and  I  will  chafe  your 
temples  and  body  and  limbs  till  they  are  warm," 
said  the  vine. 

"  Let  me  rest  upon  your  cheek,  and  I  will 
sing  you  my  little  songs,"  said  the  snowdrop. 

And  Barbara  felt  very  grateful  for  all  these 
homely  kindnesses.  She  rested  in  the  velvety 
snow  at  the  foot  of  the  pine-tree,  and  the  vine 
chafed  her  body  and  limbs,  and  the  little  flower 
sang  sweet  songs  to  her. 

"Whirr-r-r,  whirr-r-r ! "  There  was  that 
noisy  wind  again,  but  this  time  it  was  gentler 
than  it  had  been  in  the  city. 


42  THE    COMING  OF   THE   PRINCE. 

"  Here  you  are,  my  little  Barbara,"  said  the 
wind,  in  kindly  tones.  "  I  have  brought  you 
the  little  snowflake.  I  am  glad  you  came  away 
from  the  city,  for  the  people  are  proud  and 
haughty  there ;  oh,  but  I  will  have  my  fun  with 
them  !  " 

Then,  having  dropped  the  little  snowflake  on 
Barbara's  cheek,  the  wind  whisked  off  to  the 
city  again.  And  we  can  imagine  that  it  played 
rare  pranks  with  the  proud,  haughty  folk  on  its 
return ;  for  the  wind,  as  you  know,  is  no  re 
specter  of  persons. 

"  Dear  Barbara,"  said  the  snowflake,  "  I  will 
watch  with  thee  for  the  coming  of  the  prince." 

And  Barbara  was  glad,  for  she  loved  the  little 
snowflake,  that  was  so  pure  and  innocent  and 
gentle. 

"Tell  us,  O  pine-tree,"  cried  the  vine,  "what 
do  you  see  in  the  east?  Has  the  prince  yet 
entered  the  forest?" 

"  The  east  is  full  of  black  clouds,"  said  the 
pine-tree,  "  and  the  winds  that  hurry  to  the  hill 
tops  sing  of  the  snow." 

"  But  the  city  is  full  of  brightness,"  said  the 
fir.  "  I  can  see  the  lights  in  the  cathedral, 


THE    COMING   OF   THE   PRINCE  43 

and  I  can  hear  wondrous  music  about  the 
prince  and  his  coming." 

"  Yes,  they  are  singing  of  the  prince  in  the 
cathedral,"  said  Barbara,  sadly. 

"  But  we  shall  see  him  first,"  whispered  the 
vine,  reassuringly. 

"  Yes,  the  prince  will  come  through  the  for 
est,"  said  the  little  snowdrop,  gleefully. 

"  Fear  not,  dear  Barbara,  we  shall  behold  the 
prince  in  all  his  glory,"  cried  the  snowflake. 

Then  all  at  once  there  was  a  strange  hubbub 
in  the  forest ;  for  it  was  midnight,  and  the 
spirits  came  from  their  hiding-places  to  prowl 
about  and  to  disport  themselves.  Barbara  be 
held  them  all  in  great  wonder  and  trepidation, 
for  she  had  never  before  seen  the  spirits  of  the 
forest,  although  she  had  often  heard  of  them. 
It  was  a  marvellous  sight. 

"  Fear  nothing,"  whispered  the  vine  to  Bar 
bara, —  "fear  nothing,  for  they  dare  not  touch 
you." 

The  antics  of  the  wood-spirits  continued  but 
an  hour ;  for  then  a  cock  crowed,  and  immedi 
ately  thereat,  with  a  wondrous  scurrying,  the 
elves  and  the  gnomes  and  the  other  grotesque 


44  THE   COMING  OF   THE   PRINCE. 

spirits  sought  their  abiding  places  in  the  caves 
and  in  the  hollow  trunks  and  under  the  loose 
bark  of  the  trees.  And  then  it  was  very  quiet 
once  more  in  the  forest. 

"  It  is  very  cold,"  said  Barbara.  "  My  hands 
and  feet  are  like  ice." 

Then  the  pine-tree  and  the  fir  shook  down 
the  snow  from  their  broad  boughs,  and  the 
snow  fell  upon  Barbara  and  covered  her  like 
a  white  mantle. 

"  You  will  be  warm  now,"  said  the  vine,  kiss 
ing  Barbara's  forehead.  And  Barbara  smiled. 

Then  the  snowdrop  sang  a  lullaby  about  the 
moss  that  loved  the  violet.  And  Barbara  said, 
"  I  am  going  to  sleep ;  will  you  wake  me 
when  the  prince  comes  through  the  forest?" 

And  they  said  they  would.  So  Barbara  fell 
asleep. 

III. 

"  THE  bells  in  the  city  are  ringing  merrily," 
said  the  fir,  "  and  the  music  in  the  cathedral  is 
louder  and  more  beautiful  than  before.  Can  it 
be  that  the  prince  has  already  come  into  the 
city?" 


THE   COMING  OF  THE   PRINCE.  45 

"  No,"  cried  the  pine-tree,  "  look  to  the  east 
and  see  the  Christmas  day  a-davvning  !  The 
prince  is  coming,  and  his  pathway  is  through 
the  forest  !  " 

The  storm  had  ceased.  Snow  lay  upon  all 
the  earth.  The  hills,  the  forest,  the  city,  and 
the  meadows  were  white  with  the  robe  the 
storm-king  had  thrown  over  them.  Content 
with  his  wondrous  work,  the  storm-king  himself 
had  fled  to  his  far  Northern  home  before  the 
dawn  of  the  Christmas  day.  Everything  was 
bright  and  sparkling  and  beautiful.  And  most 
beautiful  was  the  great  hymn  of  praise  the  forest 
sang  that  Christmas  morning,  —  the  pine-trees 
and  the  firs  and  the  vines  and  the  snow-flowers 
that  sang  of  the  prince  and  of  his  promised 
coming. 

"  Wake  up,  little  one,"  cried  the  vine,  "  for 
the  prince  is  coming  !  " 

But  Barbara  slept  ;  she  did  not  hear  .the 
vine's  soft  calling,  nor  the  lofty  music  of  the 
forest. 

A  little  snow-bird  flew  down  from  the  fir- 
tree's  bough  and  perched  upon  the  vine,  and 
carolled  in  Barbara's  ear  of  the  Christmas  morn- 


4  6  THE    COMING  OF   THE   PRINCE. 

ing  and  of  the  coming  of  the  prince.  But 
Barbara  slept;  she  did  not  hear  the  carol  of 
the  bird. 

"  Alas  !  "  sighed  the  vine,  "  Barbara  will  not 
awaken,  and  the  prince  is  coming." 

Then  the  vine  and  the  snowdrop  wept,  and 
the  pine-tree  and  the  fir  were  very  sad. 

The  prince  came  through  the  forest  clad  in 
royal  raiment  and  wearing  a  golden  crown. 
Angels  came  with  him,  and  the  forest  sang  a 
great  hymn  unto  the  prince,  such  a  hymn  as 
had  never  before  been  heard  on  earth.  The 
prince  came  to  the  sleeping  child  and  smiled 
upon  her  and  called  her  by  name. 

"Barbara,  my  little  one,"  said  the  prince, 
"awaken,  and  come  with  me." 

Then  Barbara  opened  her  eyes  and  beheld 
the  prince.  And  it  seemed  as  if  a  new  life  had 
come  to  her,  for  there  was  warmth  in  her 
body,  and  a  flush  upon  her  cheeks  and  a  light 
in  her  eyes  that  were  divine.  And  she  was 
clothed  no  longer  in  rags,  but  in  white  flowing 
raiment;  and  upon  the  soft  brown  hair  there 
was  a  crown  like  those  which  angels  wear.  And 
as  Barbara  arose  and  went  to  the  prince,  the 


THE   COMING  OF  THE  PRINCE.  47 

little  snowflake  fell  from  her  cheek  upon  her 
bosom,  and  forthwith  became  a  pearl  more  pre 
cious  than  all  other  jewels  upon  earth. 

And  the  prince  took  Barbara  in  his  arms  and 
blessed  her,  and  turning  round  about,  returned 
with  the  little  child  unto  his  home,  while  the 
forest  and  the  sky  and  the  angels  sang  a 
wondrous  song. 

The  city  waited  for  the  prince,  but  he  did  not 
come.  None  knew  of  the  glory  of  the  forest 
that  Christmas  morning,  nor  of  the  new  life  that 
came  to  little  Barbara. 

Come  thou,  dear  Prince,  oh,  come  to  us  this 
holy  Christmas  time  !  Come  to  the  busy  marts 
of  earth,  the  quiet  homes,  the  noisy  streets,  the 
humble  lanes  ;  come  to  us  all,  and  with  thy  love 
touch  every  human  heart,  that  we  may  know 
that  love,  and  in  its  blessed  peace  bear  charity  to 
all  mankind! 

1886. 


ana  tlje  £poonbeam, 


THE   MOUSE  AND  THE  MOONBEAM. 


T"\  7HILST  you  were  sleeping,  little  Dear- 
my-Soul,  strange  things  happened;  but 
that  I  saw  and  heard  them,  I  should  never  have 
believed  them.  The  clock  stood,  of  course,  in 
the  corner,  a  moonbeam  floated  idly  on  the 
floor,  and  a  little  mauve  mouse  came  from  the 
hole  in  the  chimney  corner  and  frisked  and 
scampered  in  the  light  of  the  moonbeam  upon 
the  floor.  The  little  mauve  mouse  was  particu 
larly  merry ;  sometimes  she  danced  upon  two 
legs  and  sometimes  upon  four  legs,  but  always 
very  daintily  and  always  very  merrily. 

"Ah,  me  ! "  sighed  the  old  clock,  "  how  differ 
ent  mice  are  nowadays  from  the  mice  we  used 
to  have  in  the  good  old  times  !  Now  there  was 
your  grandma,  Mistress  Velvetpaw,  and  there 
was  your  grandpa,  Master  Sniffwhisker,  —  how 


52  THE   MOUSE   AND    THE   MOONBEAM. 

grave  and  dignified  they  were  !  Many  a  night 
have  I  seen  them  dancing  upon  the  carpet 
below  me,  but  always  the  stately  minuet  and 
never  that  crazy  frisking  which  you  are  exe 
cuting  now,  to  my  surprise  —  yes,  and  to  my 
horror,  too." 

"  But  why  should  n't  I  be  merry?  "  asked  the 
little  mauve  mouse.  "  To-morrow  is  Christmas, 
and  this  is  Christmas  eve." 

"  So  it  is,"  said  the  old  clock.  "  I  had 
really  forgotten  all  about  it.  But,  tell  me, 
what  is  Christmas  to  you,  little  Miss  Mauve 
Mouse  ?  " 

"  A  great  deal  to  me  !  "  cried  the  little  mauve 
mouse.  "  I  have  been  very  good  a  very  long 
time  :  I  have  not  used  any  bad  words,  nor  have 
I  gnawed  any  holes,  nor  have  I  stolen  any 
canary  seed,  nor  have  I  worried  my  mother  by 
running  behind  the  flour-barrel  where  that  hor 
rid  trap  is  set.  In  fact,  I  have  been  so  good 
that  I  'm  very  sure  Santa  Clans  will  bring  me 
something  very  pretty." 

This  seemed  to  amuse  the  old  clock  mightily ; 
in  fact,  the  old  clock  fell  to  laughing  so  heartily 
that  in  an  unguarded  moment  she  struck  twelve 


THE   MOUSE   AND    THE   MOONBEAM  53 

instead  of  ten,  which  was  exceedingly  careless 
and  therefore  to  be  reprehended. 

"  Why,  you  silly  little  mauve  mouse,"  said 
the  old  clock,  "  you  don't  believe  in  Santa  Glaus, 
do  you?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  answered  the  little  mauve 
mouse.  "  Believe  in  Santa  Claus  ?  Why 
should  n't  I  ?  Did  n't  Santa  Claus  bring  me  a 
beautiful  butter-cracker  last  Christmas,  and  a 
lovely  gingersnap,  and  a  delicious  rind  of 
cheese,  and  —  and  —  lots  of  things?  I  should 
be  very  ungrateful  if  I  did  not  believe  in  Santa 
Claus,  and  I  certainly  shall  not  disbelieve  in  him 
at  the  very  moment  when  I  am  expecting  him 
to  arrive  with  a  bundle  of  goodies  for  me. 

"  I  once  had  a  little  sister,"  continued  the 
little  mauve  mouse,  "who  did  not  believe  in 
Santa  Claus,  and  the  very  thought  of  the  fate 
that  befell  her  makes  my  blood  run  cold  and  my 
whiskers  stand  on  end.  She  died  before  I  was 
born,  but  my  mother  has  told  me  all  about  her. 
Perhaps  you  never  saw  her ;  her  name  was 
Squeaknibble,  and  she  was  in  stature  one  of 
those  long,  low,  rangey  mice  that  are  seldom 
found  in  well-stocked  pantries.  Mother  says 


54     THE  MOUSE  AND  THE  MOONBEAM. 

that  Squeaknibble  took  after  our  ancestors  who 
came  from  New  England,  where  the  malignant 
ingenuity  of  the  people  and  the  ferocity  of  the 
cats  rendered  life  precarious  indeed.  Squeak- 
nibble  seemed  to  inherit  many  ancestral  traits, 
the  most  conspicuous  of  which  was  a  disposition 
to  sneer  at  some  of  the  most  respected  dogmas 
in  mousedom.  From  her  very  infancy  she 
doubted,  for  example,  the  widely  accepted 
theory  that  the  moon  was  composed  of  green 
cheese ;  and  this  heresy  was  the  first  intimation 
her  parents  had  of  the  sceptical  turn  of  her 
mind.  Of  course,  her  parents  were  vastly 
annoyed,  for  their  maturer  natures  saw  that  this 
youthful  scepticism  portended  serious,  if  not 
fatal,  consequences.  Yet  all  in  vain  did  the 
sagacious  couple  reason  and  plead  with  their 
headstrong  and  heretical  child. 

"  For  a  long  time  Squeaknibble  would  not 
believe  that  there  was  any  such  archfiend  as  a 
cat ;  but  she  came  to  be  convinced  to  the  con 
trary  one  memorable  night,  on  which  occasion 
she  lost  two  inches  of  her  beautiful  tail,  and 
received  so  terrible  a  fright  that  for  fully  an 
hour  afterward  her  little  heart  beat  so  violently 


THE  MOUSE  AND  THE  MOONBEAM.     55 

as  to  lift  her  off  her  feet  and  bump  her  head 
against  the  top  of  our  domestic  hole.  The  cat 
that  deprived  my  sister  of  so  large  a  percentage 
of  her  vertebral  colophon  was  the  same  brindled 
ogress  that  nowadays  steals  ever  and  anon  into 
this  room,  crouches  treacherously  behind  the  sofa, 
and  feigns  to  be  asleep,  hoping,  forsooth,  that 
some  of  us,  heedless  of  her  hated  presence,  will 
venture  within  reach  of  her  diabolical  claws. 
So  enraged  was  this  ferocious  monster  at  the 
escape  of  my  sister  that  she  ground  her  fangs 
viciously  together,  and  vowed  to  take  no  pleasure 
in  life  until  she  held  in  her  devouring  jaws  the 
innocent  little  mouse  which  belonged  to  the 
mangled  bit  of  tail  she  even  then  clutched  in 
her  remorseless  claws." 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  clock,  "now  that  you 
recall  the  incident,  I  recollect  it  well.  I  was 
here  then,  in  this  very  corner,  and  I  remember 
that  I  laughed  at  the  cat  and  chided  her  for 
her  awkwardness.  My  reproaches  irritated  her ; 
she  told  me  that  a  clock's  duty  was  to  run  it 
self  down,  not  to  be  depreciating  the  merits  of 
others  !  Yes,  I  recall  the  time  ;  that  cat's 
tongue  is  fully  as  sharp  as  her  claws." 


56  THE   MOUSE  AND    THE  MOONBEAM. 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,"  said  the  little  mauve 
mouse,  "  it  is  a  matter  of  history,  and  therefore 
beyond  dispute,  that  from  that  very  moment  the 
cat  pined  for  Squeaknibble's  life ;  it  seemed  as 
if  that  one  little  two-inch  taste  of  Squeaknibble's 
tail  had  filled  the  cat  with  a  consuming  passion, 
or  appetite,  for  the  rest  of  Squeaknibble.  So 
the  cat  waited  and  watched  and  hunted  and 
schemed  and  devised  and  did  everything  possi 
ble  for  a  cat  —  a  cruel  cat  —  to  do  in  order 
to  gain  her  murderous  ends.  One  night  —  one 
fatal  Christmas  eve  —  our  mother  had  undressed 
the  children  for  bed,  and  was  urging  upon  them 
to  go  to  sleep  earlier  than  usual,  since  she  fully 
expected  that  Santa  Glaus  would  bring  each  of 
them  something  very  palatable  and  nice  before 
morning.  Thereupon  the  little  dears  whisked 
their  cunning  tails,  pricked  up  their  beautiful 
ears,  and  began  telling  one  another  what  they 
hoped  Santa  Claus  would  bring.  One  asked  for 
a  slice  of  Roquefort,  another  for  Neufchatel, 
another  for  Sap  Sago,  and  a  fourth  for  Edam ; 
one  expressed  a  preference  for  de  Brie,  while 
another  hoped  to  get  Parmesan  ;  one  clamored 
for  imperial  blue  Stilton,  and  another  craved  the 


THE   MOUSE   AND    THE   MOONBEAM.  57 

fragrant  boon  of  Caprera.  There  were  fourteen 
little  ones  then,  and  consequently  there  were 
diverse  opinions  as  to  the  kind  of  gift  which 
Santa  Glaus  should  best  bring ;  still,  there  was, 
as  you  can  readily  understand,  an  enthusiastic 
unanimity  upon  this  point,  namely,  that  the  gift 
should  be  cheese  of  some  brand  or  other. 

"  '  My  dears,'  said  our  mother,  '  what  mat 
ters  it  whether  the  boon  which  Santa  Glaus 
brings  be  royal  English  cheddar  or  fromage  de 
Bricquebec,  Vermont  sage,  or  Herkimer  County 
skim-milk?  We  should  be  content  with  what 
soever  Santa  Glaus  bestows,  so  long  as  it  be 
cheese,  disjoined  from  all  traps  whatsoever, 
unmixed  with  Paris  green,  and  free  from  glass, 
strychnine,  and  other  harmful  ingredients,  As 
for  myself,  I  shall  be  satisfied  with  a  cut  of  nice, 
fresh  Western  reserve ;  for  truly  I  recognize  in 
no  other  viand  or  edible  half  the  fragrance  or 
half  the  gustfulness  to  be  met  with  in  one  of 
these  pale  but  aromatic  domestic  products.  So 
run  away  to  your  dreams  now,  that  Santa  Glaus 
may  find  you  sleeping.' 

'"The  children  obeyed,  —  all  but  Squeaknib- 
ble.  '  Let  the  others  think  what  they  please,' 


58  THE  MOUSE  AND    THE   MOONBEAM. 


said  she,  '  but  /  don't  believe  in  Santa  Glaus. 
I  'm  not  going  to  bed,  either.  I  'm  going  to 
creep  out  of  this  dark  hole  and  have  a  quiet 
romp,  all  by  myself,  in  the  moonlight.'  Oh, 
what  a  vain,  foolish,  wicked  little  mouse  was 
Squeaknibble  !  But  I  will  not  reproach  the 
dead ;  her  punishment  came  all  too  swiftly. 
Now  listen  :  who  do  you  suppose  overheard  her 
talking  so  disrespectfully  of  Santa  Glaus?  " 

"Why,  Santa  Glaus  himself,"  said  the  old 
clock. 

"  Oh,  no,"  answered  the  little  mauve  mouse. 
"  It  was  that  wicked,  murderous  cat !  Just  as 
Satan  lurks  and  lies  in  wait  for  bad  children, 
so  does  the  cruel  cat  lurk  and  lie  in  wait  for 
naughty  little  mice.  And  you  can  depend  upon 
it  that,  when  that  awful  cat  heard  Squeaknibble 
speak  so  disrespectfully  of  Santa  Glaus,  her 
wicked  eyes  glowed  with  joy,  her  sharp  teeth 
watered,  and  her  bristling  fur  emitted  electric 
sparks  as  big  as  marrowfat  peas.  Then  what 
did  that  blood-thirsty  monster  do  but  scuttle  as 
fast  as  she  could  into  Dear-my-Soul's  room,  leap 
up  into  Dear-my-Soul's  crib,  and  walk  off  with 
the  pretty  little  white  muff  which  Dear-my-Soul 


THE   MOUSE   AND    THE    MOONBEAM.  59 

used  to  wear  when  she  went  for  a  visit  to  the 
little  girl  in  the  next  block  !  What  upon  earth 
did  the  horrid  old  cat  want  with  Dear-my-Soul's 
pretty  little  white  muff  ?  Ah,  the  duplicity,  the 
diabolical  ingenuity  of  that  cat !  Listen. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  resumed  the  little  mauve 
mouse,  after  a  pause  that  testified  eloquently  to 
the  depth  of  her  emotion,  —  "  in  the  first  place, 
that  wretched  cat  dressed  herself  up  in  that 
pretty  little  white  muff,  by  which  you  are  to 
understand  that  she  crawled  through  the  muff 
just  so  far  as  to  leave  her  four  cruel  legs  at 
liberty." 

"Yes,  I  understand,"  said  the  old  clock. 

"Then  she  put  on  the  boy  doll's  fur  cap," 
said  the  little  mauve  mouse,  "and  when  she 
was  arrayed  in  the  boy  doll's  fur  cap  and 
Dear-my-Soul's  pretty  little  white  muff,  of 
course  she  didn't  look  like  a  cruel  cat  at  all. 
But  whom  did  she  look  like?" 

"  Like  the  boy  doll,"  suggested  the  old 
clock. 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  the  little  mauve  mouse. 

"Like  Dear-my-Soul?"  asked  the  old  clock. 

"  How  stupid  you  are  !  "  exclaimed  the  little 


60  THE  MOUSE  AND    THE   MOONBEAM. 

mauve  mouse.     "Why,  she  looked   like   Santa 
Glaus,  of  course  !  " 

"Oh,  yes ;  I  see,"  said  the  old  clock.  "  Now 
I  begin  to  be  interested ;  go  on." 

"Alas  !  "  sighed  the  little  mauve  mouse,  "not 
much  remains  to  be  told ;  but  there  is  more  of 
my  story  left  than  there  was  of  Squeaknibble 
when  that  horrid  cat  crawled  out  of  that  mis 
erable  disguise.  You  are  to  understand  that, 
contrary  to  her  sagacious  mother's  injunction, 
and  in  notorious  derision  of  the  mooted  com 
ing  of  Santa  Glaus,  Squeaknibble  issued  from 
the  friendly  hole  in  the  chimney  corner,  and 
gambolled  about  over  this  very  carpet,  and,  I 
dare  say,  in  this  very  moonlight." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  moonbeam,  faintly. 
"  I  am  so  very  old,  and  I  have  seen  so  many 
things  —  I  do  not  know." 

"  Right  merrily  was  Squeaknibble  gambolling," 
continued  the  little  mauve  mouse,  "and  she 
had  just  turned  a  double  back  somersault  with 
out  the  use  of  what  remained  of  her  tail,  when, 
all  of  a  sudden,  she  beheld,  looming  up  like  a 
monster  ghost,  a  figure  all  in  white  fur  !  Oh, 
how  frightened  she  was,  and  how  her  little  heart 


THE   MOUSE   AND    THE   MOONBEAM.          6 1 

did  beat  !  '  Purr,  purr-r-r,'  said  the  ghost  in 
white  fur.  <  Oh,  please  don't  hurt  me  ! '  pleaded 
Squeaknibble.  <  No ;  I  '11  not  hurt  you,'  said 
the  ghost  in  white  fur ;  '  I'm  Santa  Glaus,  and 
I  Ve  brought  you  a  beautiful  piece  of  savory 
old  cheese,  you  dear  little  mousie,  you.'  Poor 
Squeaknibble  was  deceived ;  a  sceptic  all  her 
life,  she  was  at  last  befooled  by  the  most  pal 
pable  and  most  fatal  of  frauds.  'How  good 
of  you  ! '  said  Squeaknibble.  '  I  did  n't  believe 
there  was  a  Santa  Glaus,  and  —  '  but  before  she 
could  say  more  she  was  seized  by  two  sharp, 
cruel  claws  that  conveyed  her  crushed  body  to 
the  murderous  mouth  of  mousedom's  most  ma 
lignant  foe.  I  can  dwell  no  longer  upon  this 
harrowing  scene.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  ere  the 
morrow's  sun  rose  like  a  big  yellow  Herkimer 
County  cheese  upon  the  spot  where  that  tra 
gedy  had  been  enacted,  poor  Squeaknibble 
passed  to  that  bourn  whence  two  inches  of 
her  beautiful  tail  had  preceded  her  by  the 
space  of  three  weeks  to  a  day.  As  for  Santa 
Glaus,  when  he  came  that  Christmas  eve, 
bringing  morceaux  de  Brie  and  of  Stilton  for 
the  other  little  mice,  he  heard  with  sorrow  of 


62  THE  MOUSE  AND    THE   MOONBEAM. 

Squeaknibble's  fate ;  and  ere  he  departed  he 
said  that  in  all  his  experience  he  had  never 
known  of  a  mouse  or  of  a  child  that  had  pros 
pered  after  once  saying  that  he  did  n't  believe 
in  Santa  Clans." 

"  Well,  that  is  a  remarkable  story,"  said  the 
old  clock.  "  But  if  you  believe  in  Santa  Glaus, 
why  aren't  you  in  bed?" 

"  That 's  where  I  shall  be  presently,"  an 
swered  the  little  mauve  mouse,  "  but  I  must 
have  my  scamper,  you  know.  It  is  very  pleas 
ant,  I  assure  you,  to  frolic  in  the  light  of  the 
moon ;  only  I  cannot  understand  why  you  are 
always  so  cold  and  so  solemn  and  so  still,  you 
pale,  pretty  little  moonbeam." 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not  know  that  I  am  so,"  said 
the  moonbeam.  "But  I  am  very  old,  and  I 
have  travelled  many,  many  leagues,  and  I  have 
seen  wondrous  things.  Sometimes  I  toss  upon 
the  ocean,  sometimes  I  fall  upon  a  slumbering 
flower,  sometimes  I  rest  upon  a  dead  child's 
face.  I  see  the  fairies  at  their  play,  and  I 
hear  mothers  singing  lullabies.  Last  night  I 
swept  across  the  frozen  bosom  of  a  river.  A 
woman's  face  looked  up  at  me ;  it  was  the 


THE   MOUSE   AND    THE    MOONBEAM.          63 

picture  of  eternal  rest.  <  She  is  sleeping,'  said 
the  frozen  river.  '  I  rock  her  to  and  fro,  and 
sing  to  her.  Pass  gently  by,  O  moonbeam; 
pass  gently  by,  lest  you  awaken  her.'  " 

"  How  strangely  you  talk,"  said  the  old  clock. 
"  Now,  I  '11  warrant  me  that,  if  you  wanted  to, 
you  could  tell  many  a  pretty  and  wonderful 
story.  You  must  know  many  a  Christmas  tale  ; 
pray,  tell  us  one  to  wear  away  this  night  of 
Christmas  watching." 

"  I  know  but  one,"  said  the  moonbeam.  "  I 
have  told  it  over  and  over  again,  in  every  land 
and  in  every  home;  yet  I  do  not  weary  of 
it.  It  is  very  simple.  Should  you  like  to  hear 
it?" 

"  Indeed  we  should,"  said  the  old  clock ; 
"but  before  you  begin,  let  me  strike  twelve; 
for  I  shouldn't  want  to  interrupt  you." 

When  the  old  clock  had  performed  this  duty 
with  somewhat  more  than  usual  alacrity,  the 
moonbeam  began  its  story  :- 

"  Upon  a  time  —  so  long  ago  that  I  can't  tell 
how  long  ago  it  was  — I  fell  upon  a  hillside. 
It  was  in  a  far  distant  country ;  this  I  know,  be 
cause,  although  it  was  the  Christmas  time,  it 


64  THE   MOUSE  AffD    THE  MOONBEAM. 

was  not  in  that  country  as  it  is  wont  to  be  in 
countries  to  the  north.  Hither  the  snow-king 
never  came ;  flowers  bloomed  all  the  year,  and 
at  all  times  the  lambs  found  pleasant  pasturage 
on  the  hillsides.  The  night  wind  was  balmy, 
and  there  was  a  fragrance  of  cedar  in  its  breath. 
There  were  violets  on  the  hillside,  and  I  fell 
amongst  them  and  lay  there.  I  kissed  them, 
and  they  awakened.  <  Ah,  is  it  you,  little  moon 
beam  ? '  they  said,  and  they  nestled  in  the  grass 
which  the  lambs  had  left  uncropped. 

"  A  shepherd  lay  upon  a  broad  stone  on  the 
hillside;  above  him  spread  an  olive-tree,  old, 
ragged,  and  gloomy;  but  now  it  swayed  its 
rusty  branches  majestically  in  the  shifting  air 
of  night.  The  shepherd's  name  was  Benoni. 
Wearied  with  long  watching,  he  had  fallen 
asleep;  his  crook  had  slipped  from  his  hand. 
Upon  the  hillside,  too,  slept  the  shepherd's 
flock.  I  had  counted  them  again  and  again ; 
I  had  stolen  across  their  gentle  faces  and 
brought  them  pleasant  dreams  of  green  pas 
tures  and  of  cool  water- brooks.  I  had  kissed 
old  Benoni,  too,  as  he  lay  slumbering  there ; 
and  in  his  dreams  he  seemed  to  see  Israel's 


THE   MOUSE   AND    THE  MOONBEAM.  65 

King  come  upon  earth,  and  in  his  dreams  he 
murmured  the  promised  Messiah's  name. 

" '  Ah,  is  it  you,  little  moonbeam  ?  '  quoth 
the  violets.  t  You  have  come  in  good  time. 
Nestle  here  with  us,  and  see  wonderful  things 
come  to  pass.' 

" '  What  are  these  wonderful  things  of  which 
you  speak?'  I  asked. 

"  <  We  heard  the  old  olive-tree  telling  of 
them  to-night,'  said  the  violets.  '  Do  not  go 
to  sleep,  little  violets,'  said  the  old  olive-tree, 
'  for  this  is  Christmas  night,  and  the  Master 
shall  walk  upon  the  hillside  in  the  glory  of  the 
midnight  hour.'  So  we  waited  and  watched ; 
one  by  one  the  lambs  fell  asleep ;  one  by  one 
the  stars  peeped  out ;  the  shepherd  nodded 
and  crooned  and  crooned  and  nodded,  and  at 
last  he,  too,  went  fast  asleep,  and  his  crook 
slipped  from  his  keeping.  Then  we  called  to  the 
old  olive-tree  yonder,  asking  how  soon  the  mid 
night  hour  would  come  ;  but  all  the  old  olive-tree 
answered  was  '  Presently,  presently,'  and  finally 
we,  too,  fell  asleep,  wearied  by  our  long  watch 
ing,  and  lulled  by  the  rocking  and  swaying  of 
the  old  olive-tree  in  the  breezes  of  the  night. 
5 


66 


THE   MOUSE  AND    THE   MOONBEAM. 


" '  But  who  is  this  Master?  '  I  asked. 

" '  A  child,  a  little  child,'  they  answered. 
'He  is  called  the  little  Master  by  the  others. 
He  comes  here  often,  and  plays  among  the 
flowers  of  the  hillside.  Sometimes  the  lambs, 
gambolling  too  carelessly,  have  crushed  and 
bruised  us  so  that  we  lie  bleeding  and  are 
like  to  die;  but  the  little  Master  heals  our 
wounds  and  refreshes  us  once  again.' 

"I  marvelled  much  to  hear  these  things. 
'The  midnight  hour  is  at  hand,'  said  I,  'and 
I  will  abide  with  you  to  see  this  little  Master 
of  whom  you  speak.'  So  we  nestled  among 
the  verdure  of  the  hillside,  and  sang  songs 
one  to  another. 

"  '  Come  away  !  '  called  the  night  wind  ;  <  I 
know  a  beauteous  sea  not  far  hence,  upon 
whose  bosom  you  shall  float,  float,  float  away 
out  into  the  mists  and  clouds,  if  you  will 
come  with  me.' 

"But  I  hid  under  the  violets  and  amid  the 
tall  grass,  that  the  night  wind  might  not  woo  me 
with  its  pleading.  <  Ho,  there,  old  olive-tree  ! ' 
cried  the  violets  ;  '  do  you  see  the  little  Master 
coming  ?  Is  not  the  midnight  hour  at  hand  ?  ' 


THE  MOUSE   AND    THE   MOONBEAM.  67 

" '  I  can  see  the  town  yonder,'  said  the  old 
olive-tree.  'A  star  beams  bright  over  Bethle 
hem,  the  iron  gates  swing  open,  and  the  little 
Master  comes.' 

"Two  children  came  to  the  hillside.  The 
one,  older  than  his  comrade,  was  Dimas,  the 
son  of  Benoni.  He  was  rugged  and  sinewy, 
and  over  his  brown  shoulders  was  flung  a  goat 
skin ;  a  leathern  cap  did  not  confine  his  long, 
dark  curly  hair.  The  other  child  was  he  whom 
they  called  the  little  Master ;  about  his  slender 
form  clung  raiment  white  as  snow,  and  around 
his  face  of  heavenly  innocence  fell  curls  of 
golden  yellow.  So  beautiful  a  child  I  had  not 
seen  before,  nor  have  I  ever  since  seen  such 
as  he.  And  as  they  came  together  to  the  hill 
side,  there  seemed  to  glow  about  the  little  Mas 
ter's  head  a  soft  white  light,  as  if  the  moon 
had  sent  its  tenderest,  fairest  beams  to  kiss 
those  golden  curls. 

" '  What  sound  was  that?'  cried  Dimas,  for 
he  was  exceeding  fearful. 

"  '  Have  no  fear,  Dimas,'  said  the  little  Mas 
ter.     '  Give  me  thy  hand,  and  I  will  lead  thee.' 

"Presently  they  came  to  the   rock  whereon 


68  THE   MOUSE   AND    THE   MOONBEAM. 

Benoni,  the  shepherd,  lay ;  and  they  stood  un 
der  the  old  olive-tree,  and  the  old  olive-tree 
swayed  no  longer  in  the  night  wind,  but  bent 
its  branches  reverently  in  the  presence  of  the 
little  Master.  It  seemed  as  if  the  wind,  too, 
stayed  in  its  shifting  course  just  then ;  for 
suddenly  there  was  a  solemn  hush,  and  you 
could  hear  no  noise,  except  that  in  his  dreams 
Benoni  spoke  the  Messiah's  name. 

" '  Thy  father  sleeps,'  said  the  little  Master, 
'  and  it  is  well  that  it  is  so  ;  for  that  I  love 
thee,  Dimas,  and  that  thou  shalt  walk  with  me 
in  my  Father's  kingdom,  I  would  show  thee 
the  glories  of  my  birthright.' 

"  Then  all  at  once  sweet  music  filled  the  air, 
and  light,  greater  than  the  light  of  day,  illu 
mined  the  sky  and  fell  upon  all  that  hillside. 
The  heavens  opened,  and  angels,  singing  joy 
ous  songs,  walked  to  the  earth.  More  won 
drous  still,  the  stars,  falling  from  their  places 
in  the  sky,  clustered  upon  the  old  olive-tree, 
and  swung  hither  and  thither  like  colored  lan 
terns.  The  flowers  of  the  hillside  all  awak 
ened,  and  they,  too,  danced  and  sang.  The 
angels,  coming  hither,  hung  gold  and  silver  and 


THE   MOUSE   AND    THE   MOONBEAM,          69 

jewels  and  precious  stones  upon  the  old  olive, 
where  swung  the  stars ;  so  that  the  glory  of 
that  sight,  though  I  might  live  forever,  I  shall 
never  see  again.  When  Dimas  heard  and  saw 
these  things  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  catch 
ing  the  hem  of  the  little  Master's  garment,  he 
kissed  it. 

"  '  Greater  joy  than  this  shall  be  thine,  Dimas,' 
said  the  little  Master ;  '  but  first  must  all  things 
be  fulfilled.' 

"All  through  that  Christmas  night  did  the 
angels  come  and  go  with  their  sweet  anthems ; 
all  through  that  Christmas  night  did  the  stars 
dance  and  sing ;  and  when  it  came  my  time  to 
steal  away,  the  hillside  was  still  beautiful  with 
the  glory  and  the  music  of  heaven." 

"Well,  is  that  all?  "  asked  the  old  clock. 

"  No,"  said  the  moonbeam  ;  "  but  I  am  nearly 
done.  The  years  went  on.  Sometimes  I  tossed 
upon  the  ocean's  bosom,  sometimes  I  scampered 
o'er  a  battle-field,  sometimes  I  lay  upon  a  dead 
child's  face.  I  heard  the  voices  of  Darkness 
and  mothers'  lullabies  and  sick  men's  prayers, 
—  and  so  the  years  went  on. 

"  I  fell  one  night  upon  a  hard  and  furrowed 


70  THE   MOUSE   AND    THE   MOONBEAM. 

face.  It  was  of  ghostly  pallor.  A  thief  was 
dying  on  the  cross,  and  this  was  his  wretched 
face.  About  the  cross  stood  men  with  staves 
and  swords  and  spears,  but  none  paid  heed 
unto  the  thief.  Somewhat  beyond  this  cross 
another  was  lifted  up,  and  upon  it  was  stretched 
a  human  body  my  light  fell  not  upon.  But  I 
heard  a  voice  that  somewhere  I  had  heard  be 
fore,  —  though  where  I  did  not  know,  —  and  this 
voice  blessed  those  that  railed  and  jeered  and 
shamefully  entreated.  And  suddenly  the  voice 
called  '  Dimas,  Dimas  ! '  and  the  thief  upon 
whose  hardened  face  I  rested  made  answer. 

"  Then  I  saw  that  it  was  Dimas ;  yet  to  this 
wicked  criminal  there  remained  but  little  of  the 
shepherd  child  whom  I  had  seen  in  all  his  in 
nocence  upon  the  hillside.  Long  years  of  sin 
ful  life  had  seared  their  marks  into  his  face ;  yet 
now,  at  the  sound  of  that  familiar  voice,  some 
what  of  the  old-time  boyish  look  came  back,  and 
in  the  yearning  of  the  anguished  eyes  I  seemed 
to  see  the  shepherd's  son  again. 

"  '  The  Master  ! '  cried  Dimas,  and  he  stretched 
forth  his  neck  that  he  might  see  him  that  spake. 

"  '  O  Dimas,  how  art   thou  changed  ! '  cried 


THE    MOUSE  AND    THE   MOO  X BE  AM.  7  I 

the  Master,  yet  there  was  in  his  voice  no  tone  of 
rebuke  save  that  which  cometh  of  love. 

"  Then  Dimas  wept,  and  in  that  hour  he  for 
got  his  pain.  And  the  Master's  consoling  voice 
and  the  Master's  presence  there  wrought  in  the 
dying  criminal  such  a  new  spirit,  that  when  at 
last  his  head  fell  upon  his  bosom,  and  the  men 
about  the  cross  said  that  he  was  dead,  it  seemed 
as  if  I  shined  not  upon  a  felon's  face,  but  upon 
the  face  of  the  gentle  shepherd  lad,  the  son  of 
Benoni. 

"  And  shining  on  that  dead  and  peaceful  face, 
1  bethought  me  of  the  little  Master's  words  that 
he  had  spoken  under  the  old  olive-tree  upon 
the  hillside  :  '  Your  eyes  behold  the  promised 
glory  now,  O  Dimas,'  I  whispered,  <  for  with  the 
Master  you  walk  in  Paradise.'  " 

Ah,  little  Dear-my-Soul,  you  know  —  you 
know  whereof  the  moonbeam  spake.  The  shep 
herd's  bones  are  dust,  the  flocks  are  scattered, 
the  old  olive-tree  is  gone,  the  flowers  of  the  hill 
side  are  withered,  and  none  knoweth  where  the 
grave  of  Dimas  is  made.  But  last  night,  again, 
there  shined  a  star  over  Bethlehem,  and  the 


7 2  THE   MOUSE   AND    THE   MOONBEAM. 

angels  descended  from  the  sky  to  earth,  and  the 
stars  sang  together  in  glory.  And  the  bells,  — 
hear  them,  little  Dear-my-Soul,  how  sweetly  they 
are  ringing,  —  the  bells  bear  us  the  good  tidings 
of  great  joy  this  Christmas  morning,  that  our 
Christ  is  born,  and  that  with  him  he  bringelh 
peace  on  earth  and  good-will  toward  men. 

1888. 


THE   DIVELL'S   CHRYSTMASS. 


TT  befell  that  on  a  time  ye  Divell  did  walk 
to  and  fro  upon  ye  earth,  having  in  his 
mind  full  evill  cogitations  how  that  he  might 
do  despight ;  for  of  soche  nature  is  ye  Divell, 
and  ever  hath  been,  that  continually  doth  he  go 
about  among  men,  being  so  dispositioned  that  it 
sufficeth  him  not  that  men  sholde  of  their  own 
frowardness,  and  by  cause  of  the  guile  born  in 
them,  turn  unto  his  wickedness,  but  rather  that 
he  sholde  by  his  crewel  artifices  and  diabolical 
machinations  tempt  them  at  all  times  and  upon 
every  hand  to  do  his  fiendly  plaisaunce. 

But  it  so  fortuned  that  this  time  wherein  ye 
Divell  so  walked  upon  ye  earth  was  ye  Chryst- 
mass  time ;  and  wit  ye  well  that  how  evill  so 
ever  ye  harte  of  man  ben  at  other  seasons,  it 
is  tofilled  at  ye  Chrystmass  time  with  charity 
and  love,  like  as  if  it  ben  sanctified  by  ye 


76  THE  DI YELL'S   CHRYSTMASS. 

exceeding  holiness  of  that  feast.  Leastwise,  this 
moche  we  know,  that,  whereas  at  other  times 
envy  and  worldliness  do  prevail,  for  a  verity  our 
natures  are  toched  at  ye  Chrystmass  time  as  by 
ye  hand  of  divinity,  and  conditioned  for  merci 
ful  deeds  unto  our  fellow  kind.  Right  wroth 
was  ye  Divell,  therefore,  when  that  he  knew  this 
ben  ye  Chrystmass  time.  And  as  rage  doth 
often  confirm  in  ye  human  harte  an  evill  pur 
pose,  so  was  ye  Divell  now  more  diabolically 
minded  to  work  his  unclean  will,  and  full  he- 
jeously  fell  he  to  roar  and  lash  his  ribald  legs 
with  his  poyson  taile.  But  ye  Divell  did  pres 
ently  conceive  that  naught  might  he  accomplish 
by  this  means,  since  that  men,  affrighted  by  his 
roaring  and  astonied  by  ye  fumes  of  brimstone 
and  ye  sulphur  flames  issuing  from  his  mouth, 
wolde  flee  therefrom ;  whereas  by  subtile  craft 
and  by  words  of  specious  guile  it  more  fre 
quently  befalls  that  ye  Divell  seduceth  men  and 
lureth  them  into  his  toils.  So  then  ye  Divell  did 
in  a  little  season  feign  to  be  in  a  full  plaisaunt 
mind  and  of  sweet  purpose ;  and  when  that  he 
had  girt  him  about  with  an  hermit's  cloak,  so 
that  none  might  see  his  cloven  feet  and  his  poy- 


THE   D1VELVS   CHRYSTMASS.  77 

son  taile,  right  briskly  did  he  fare  him  on 
his  journey,  and  he  did  sing  ye  while  a  plais- 
aunt  tune,  like  he  had  ben  full  of  joyous 
contentation. 

Now  it  befell  that  presently  in  his  journey  he 
did  meet  with  a  frere,  Dan  Dennyss,  an  holy 
man  that  fared  him  to  a  neighboring  town  for 
deeds  of  charity  and  godliness.  Unto  him 
spake  ye  Divell  full  courteysely,  and  required  of 
him  that  he  might  bear  him  company  ;  to 
which  ye  frere  gave  answer  in  seemly  wise,  that, 
if  so  be  that  he  ben  of  friendly  disposition,  he 
wolde  make  him  joy  of  his  companionship  and 
conversation.  Then,  whiles  that  they  journeyed 
together,  began  ye  Divell  to  discourse  of  theolo 
gies  and  hidden  mysteries,  and  of  conjurations, 
and  of  negromancy  and  of  magick,  and  of  Chal- 
dee,  and  of  astrology,  and  of  chymistry,  and  of 
other  occult  and  forbidden  sciences,  wherein  ye 
Divell  and  all  that  ply  his  damnable  arts  are 
mightily  learned  and  practised.  Now  wit  ye  well 
that  this  frere,  being  an  holy  man  and  a  simple, 
and  having  an  eye  single  to  ye  blessed  works  of 
his  calling,  was  presently  mightily  troubled  in 
his  mind  by  ye  artifices  of  ye  Divell,  and  his 


THE  DIVELVS   CHRYSTMASS. 


harte  began  to  waver  and  to  be  filled  with  mis 
erable  doublings;  for  knowing  nothing  of  ye 
things  whereof  ye  Divell  spake,  he  colde  not 
make  answer  thereto,  nor,  being  of  godly  cogi 
tation  and  practice,  had  he  ye  confutations 
wherewith  to  meet  ye  abhominable  argumenta 
tions  of  ye  fiend. 

Yet  (and  now  shall  I  tell  you  of  a  special 
Providence)  it  did  fortune,  whiles  yet  ye  Divell 
discoursed  in  this  profane  wise,  there  was  vouch 
safed  unto  ye  frere  a  certain  power  to  resist  ye 
evill  that  environed  him ;  for  of  a  sodaine  he 
did  cast  his  doublings  and  his  misgivings  to 
ye  winds,  and  did  fall  upon  ye  Divell  and 
did  buffet  him  full  sore,  crying,  "  Thou  art 
ye  Divell!  Get  thee  gone!"  And  ye  frere 
plucked  ye  cloake  from  ye  Divell  and  saw  ye 
cloven  feet  and  ye  poyson  taile,  and  straight 
way  ye  Divell  ran  roaring  away.  But  ye  frere 
fared  upon  his  journey,  for  that  he  had  had  a 
successful  issue  from  this  grevious  temptation, 
with  thanksgiving  and  prayse. 

Next  came  ye  Divell  into  a  town  wherein  were 
many  people  going  to  and  fro  upon  works  of 
charity,  and  doing  righteous  practices  j  and 


THE  DIVELVS  CHRYSTMASS.  79 

sorely  did  it  repent  ye  Divell  when  that  he  saw 
ye    people    bent   upon  ye    giving  of  alms    and 
ye  doing  of  charitable  deeds.     Therefore  with 
mighty  diligence  did  ye  Divell  apply  himself  to 
poyson  ye  minds   of  ye  people,  shewing  unto 
them  in  artful  wise  how  that  by  idleness  or  by 
righteous   dispensation   had   ye   poore  become 
poore,  and  that,  soche  being  ye  will  of  God,  it 
was  an  evill  and  rebellious  thing  against  God  to 
seeke  to  minister  consolation  unto  these  poore 
peoples.      Soche  like  specious  argumentations 
did  ye  Divell  use  to  gain  his  diabolical  ends ; 
but  by  means  of  a  grace  whereof  none   then 
knew  ye  source,  these  men  and  these  women 
unto  whom  ye  Divell  spake  his  hejeous  heresies 
presently  discovered  force    to  withstand   these 
fiendly  temptations,   and  to  continue   in   their 
Chrystianly  practices,  to  ye  glory  of  their  faith 
and  to  ye  benefite  of  ye  needy,  but  to  ye  ex 
ceeding  discomfiture  of  ye  Divell ;  for  ye  which 
discomfiture  I  do    give    hearty  thanks,  and  so 
also  shall  all  of  you,  if  so  be  that  your  hartes 
within  you  be  of  rightful  disposition. 

All  that  day  long  fared  ye  Divell  to  and  fro 
among  ye  people  of  ye  town,  but  none  colde 


8o 


THE   DIVELL'S   CHRYSTMASS. 


he    bring    into    his    hellish    way   of    cogitation. 
Nor  do  I  count  this  to  be  a  marvellous  thing ; 
for,  as  I  myself  have  herein  shewn  and  as  eche 
of  us  doth  truly  know,  how  can  there  be  a  place 
for  ye  Divell  upon  earth  during  this  Chrystmass 
time  when  in  ye  very  air  that  we  breathe  abideth 
a  certain  love  and  concord  sent  of  heaven  for 
the  controul  and  edification  of  mankind,  filling 
human  hartes  with  peace  and  inclining  human 
hands   to   ye  delectable   and  blessed    employ 
ments  of  charity?     Nay,   but  you  shall   know 
that  all  this  very  season  whereof  I   speak  ye 
holy  Chrystchilde  himself  did  follow  ye  Divell 
upon  earth,  forefending  the  crewel  evills  which 
ye  Divell  fain  wolde  do  and  girding  with  con 
fidence  and  love  ye  else  frail  natures  of  men. 
Soothly  it  is  known  of  common  report  among 
you    that   when    ye    Chrystmass    season    comes 
upon  ye  earth   there   cometh  with  it  also  the 
spirit  of  our  Chryst  himself,  that  in  ye  simili 
tude  of  a  little  childe  descendeth  from  heaven 
and  walketh  among  men.     And  if  so  be  that  by 
any  chance  ye  Divell  is  minded  to  issue  from 
his   foul  pit  at  soche  a  time,  wit  ye  well  that 
wheresoever  ye  fiend  fareth  to  do  his  diaboli- 


THE   D I  YELL'S   CHRYSTMASS.  8  I 

cal  plaisaunce  there  also  close  at  hand  fol- 
loweth  ye  gentle  Chrystchilde ;  so  that  ye 
Divell,  try  how  hard  soever  he  may,  hath  no 
power  at  soche  a  time  over  the  hartes  of 
men. 

Nay,  but  you  shall  know  furthermore  that  of 
soche  sweete  quality  and  of  so  great  efficacy  is 
this  heavenly  spirit  of  charity  at  ye  Chrystmass 
season,  that  oftentimes  is  ye  Divell  himself  made 
to  do  a  kindly  deed.  So  at  this  time  of  ye 
which  I  you  tell,  ye  Divell,  walking  upon  ye 
earth  with  evill  purpose,  become  finally  over 
come  by  ye  gracious  desire  to  give  an  alms; 
but  nony  alms  had  ye  Divell  to  give,  sith  it  is 
wisely  ordained  that  ye  Divell's  offices  shall  be 
confined  to  his  domain.  Right  grievously  tor 
mented  therefore  was  ye  Divell,  in  that  he  had 
nought  of  alms  to  bestow ;  but  when  presently 
he  did  meet  with  a  beggar  childe  that  besought 
him  charity,  ye  Divell  whipped  out  a  knife  and 
cut  off  his  own  taile,  which  taile  ye  Divell  gave 
to  ye  beggar  childe,  for  he  had  not  else  to  give 
for  a  lyttle  trinket  toy  to  make  merry  with. 
Now  wit  ye  well  that  this  poyson  instrument 
brought  no  evill  to  ye  beggar  childe,  for  by  a 
6 


82  THE   DIVELUS    CHRYSTMASS. 

sodaine  miracle  it  ben  changed  into  a  fiowre 
of  gold,  ye  which  gave  great  joy  unto  ye  beggar 
childe  and  unto  all  them  that  saw  this  miracle 
how  that  it  had  ben  wrought,  but  not  by  ye 
Divell.  Then  returned  ye  Divell  unto  his  pit  of 
fire ;  and  since  that  day,  whereupon  befell  this 
thing  of  which  I  speak,  ye  Divell  hath  had  nony 
taile  at  all,  as  you  that  hath  scene  ye  same  shall 
truly  testify. 

But  all  that  day  long  walked  ye  Chrystchilde 
upon  ye  earth,  unseen  to  ye  people  but  toching 
their  hartes  with  his  swete  love  and  turning  their 
hands  to  charity;  and  all  felt  that  ye  Chryst 
childe  was  with  them.  So  it  was  plaisaunt  to 
do  ye  Chrystchilde's  will,  to  succor  ye  needy, 
to  comfort  ye  afflicted,  and  to  lift  up  ye  op 
pressed.  Most  plaisauntest  of  all  was  it  to 
make  merry  with  ye  lyttle  children,  sithence  ot 
soche  is  ye  kingdom  whence  ye  Chrystchilde 
cometh. 

Behold,  ye  season  is  again  at  hand;  once 
more  ye  snows  of  winter  lie  upon  all  ye  earth, 
and  all  Chrystantie  is  arrayed  to  the  holy 
feast. 

Presently  shall   ye   star  burn  with  exceeding 


THE   DIV  ELL'S   CHRYSTMASS.  83 

brightness  in  ye  east,  ye  sky  shall  be  full  of 
swete  music,  ye  angels  shall  descend  to  earth 
with  singing,  and  ye  bells  —  ye  joyous  Chryst- 
mass  bells  —  shall  tell  us  of  ye  babe  that  was 
born  in  Bethlehem. 

Come  to  us  now,  O  gentle  Chrystchilde,  and 
walke  among  us  peoples  of  ye  earth ;  enwheel 
us  round  about  with  thy  protecting  care ;  fore- 
fend  all  envious  thoughts  and  evil  deeds ;  toche 
thou  our  hearts  with  the  glory  of  thy  love,  and 
quicken  us  to  practices  of  peace,  good-will,  and 
charity  meet  for  thy  approval  and  acceptation. 


fountain  and  tije 


THE  MOUNTAIN   AND   THE  SEA. 


upon  a  time  the  air,  the  mountain, 
and  the  sea  lived  undisturbed  upon  all 
the  earth.  The  mountain  alone  was  immov 
able  ;  he  stood  always  here  upon  his  rocky 
foundation,  and  the  sea  rippled  and  foamed 
at  his  feet,  while  the  air  danced  freely  over 
his  head  and  about  his  grim  face.  It  came  to 
pass  that  both  the  sea  and  the  air  loved  the 
mountain,  but  the  mountain  loved  the  sea. 

"  Dance  on  forever,  O  air,"  said  the  moun 
tain  ;  "  dance  on  and  sing  your  merry  songs. 
But  I  love  the  gentle  sea,  who  in  sweet  humility 
crouches  at  my  feet  or  playfully  dashes  her 
white  spray  against  my  brown  bosom." 

Now  the  sea  was  full  of  joy  when  she  heard 
these  words,  and  her  thousand  voices  sang  softly 
with  delight.  But  the  air  was  filled  with  rage 
and  jealousy,  and  she  swore  a  terrible  revenge. 


88  THE  MOUNTAIN  AND    THE  SEA. 


11  The  mountain  shall  not  wed  the  sea,"  mut 
tered  the  envious  air.  "Enjoy  your  triumph 
while  you  may,  O  slumberous  sister ;  I  will  steal 
you  from  your  haughty  lover  !  " 

And  it  came  to  pass  that  ever  after  that  the 
air  each  day  caught  up  huge  parts  of  the  sea 
and  sent  them  floating  forever  through  the  air 
in  the  shape  of  clouds.  So  each  day  the  sea 
receded  from  the  feet  of  the  mountain,  and  her 
tuneful  waves  played  no  more  around  his  majes 
tic  base. 

"Whither  art  thou  going,  my  love?"  cried 
the  mountain,  in  dismay. 

"  She  is  false  to  thee,"  laughed  the  air, 
mockingly.  "  She  is  going  to  another  love  far 
away." 

But  the  mountain  would  not  believe  it.  He 
towered  his  head  aloft  and  cried  more  beseech 
ingly  than  before  :  "  Oh,  whither  art  thou  go 
ing,  my  beloved?  I  do  not  hear  thy  sweet 
voice,  nor  do  thy  soft  white  arms- '.compass  me 
about." 

Then  the  sea  cried  out  in  an  agony  of  help 
less  love.  But  the  mountain  heard  her  not,  for 
the  air  refused  to  bring  the  words  she  said. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  AND    THE  SEA.  89 

"  She  is  false  !  "  whispered  the  air.  "  I  alone 
am  true  to  thee." 

But  the  mountain  believed  her  not.  Day 
after  day  he  reared  his  massive  head  aloft  and 
turned  his  honest  face  to  the  receding  sea  and 
begged  her  to  return;  day  after  day  the  sea 
threw  up  her  snowy  arms  and  uttered  the  wildest 
lamentations,  but  the  mountain  heard  her  not ; 
and  day  by  day  the  sea  receded  farther  and 
farther  from  the  mountain's  base.  Where  she 
once  had  spread  her  fair  surface  appeared  fer 
tile  plains  and  verdant  groves  all  peopled  with 
living  things,  whose  voices  the  air  brought  to 
the  mountain's  ears  in  the  hope  that  they  might 
distract  the  mountain  from  his  mourning. 

But  the  mountain  would  not  be  comforted ; 
he  lifted  his  sturdy  head  aloft,  and  his  sorrowing 
face  was  turned  ever  toward  the  fleeting  object 
of  his  love.  Hills,  valleys,  forests,  plains,  and 
other  mountains  separated  them  now,  but  over 
and  beyond  them  all  he  could  see  her  fair  face 
lifted  pleadingly  toward  him,  while  her  white 
arms  tossed  wildly  to  and  fro.  But  he  did  not 
know  what  words  she  said,  for  the  envious  air 
would  not  bear  her  messages  to  him. 


90  THE   MOUNTAIN  AND   THE  SEA. 

Then  many  ages  came  and  went,  until  now 
the  sea  was  far  distant,  so  very  distant  that 
the  mountain  could  not  behold  her,  —  nay,  had 
he  been  ten  thousand  times  as  lofty  he  could  not 
have  seen  her,  she  was  so  far  away.  But  still, 
as  of  old,  the  mountain  stood  with  his  majes 
tic  head  high  in  the  sky,  and  his  face  turned 
whither  he  had  seen  her  fading  like  a  dream 
away. 

"  Come  back,  come  back,  O  my  beloved  !  " 
he  cried  and  cried. 

And  the  sea,  a  thousand  miles  or  more 
away,  still  thought  forever  of  the  mountain. 
Vainly  she  peered  over  the  western  horizon 
for  a  glimpse  of  his  proud  head  and  honest 
face.  The  horizon  was  dark.  Her  lover  was 
far  beyond ;  forests,  plains,  hills,  valleys,  rivers, 
and  other  mountains  intervened.  Her  watch 
ing  was  as  hopeless  as  her  love. 

"  She  is  false  ! "  whispered  the  air  to  the 
mountain.  "  She  is  false,  and  she  has  gone 
to  another  lover.  I  alone  am  true  !  " 

But  the  mountain  believed  her  not.  And 
one  day  clouds  came  floating  through  the  sky 
and  hovered  around  the  mountain's  crest. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  AND   THE  SEA.  9  I 

"Who  art  thou,"  cried  the  mountain, — 
"who  art  thou  that  thou  fill'st  me  with  such 
a  subtile  consolation?  Thy  breath  is  like  my 
beloved's,  and  thy  kisses  are  like  her  kisses." 

"  We  come  from  the  sea,"  answered  the 
clouds.  "She  loves  thee,  and  she  has  sent 
us  to  bid  thee  be  courageous,  for  she  will 
come  back  to  thee." 

Then  the  clouds  covered  the  mountain  and 
bathed  him  with  the  glory  of  the  sea's  true 
love.  The  air  raged  furiously,  but  all  in  vain. 
Ever  after  that  the  clouds  came  each  day  with 
love-messages  from  the  sea,  and  oftentimes  the 
clouds  bore  back  to  the  distant  sea  the  tender 
words  the  mountain  spoke. 

And  so  the  ages  come  and  go,  the  mountain 
rearing  his  giant  head  aloft,  and  his  brown,  honest 
face  turned  whither  the  sea  departed ;  the  sea 
stretching  forth  her  arms  to  the  distant  moun 
tain  and  repeating  his  dear  name  with  her  thou 
sand  voices. 

Stand  on  the  beach  and  look  upon  the  sea's 
majestic  calm  and  hear  her  murmurings ;  or  see 
her  when,  in  the  frenzy  of  her  hopeless  love, 
she  surges  wildly  and  tosses  her  white  arms  and 


92  THE  MOUNTAIN  AND   THE  SEA. 

shrieks,  —  then  you  shall  know  how  the  sea 
loves  the  distant  mountain. 

The  mountain  is  old  and  sear;  the  storms 
have  beaten  upon  his  breast,  and  great  scars  and 
seams  and  wrinkles  are  on  his  sturdy  head  and 
honest  face.  But  he  towers  majestically  aloft, 
and  he  looks  always  toward  the  distant  sea  and 
waits  for  her  promised  coming. 

And  so  the  ages  come  and  go,  but  love  is 
eternal. 

1886. 


t\)t  ttobin  and  ttje  Violet, 


THE  ROBIN   AND   THE  VIOLET. 


o 


,NCE  upon  a  time  a  robin  lived  in  the  green 
wood.  Of  all  the  birds  his  breast  was 
the  brightest,  his  music  was  the  sweetest,  and 
his  life  was  the  merriest.  Every  morning  and 
evening  he  perched  himself  among  the  berries 
of  the  linden-tree,  and  carolled  a  song  that  made 
the  whole  forest  joyous;  and  all  day  long  he 
fluttered  among  the  flowers  and  shrubbery  of 
the  wild-wood,  and  twittered  gayly  to  the  brooks, 
the  ferns,  and  the  lichens. 

A  violet  grew  among  the  mosses  at  the  foot 
of  the  linden- tree  where  lived  the  robin.  She 
was  so  very  tiny  and  so  very  modest  that  few 
knew  there  was  such  a  pretty  little  creature  in 
the  world.  Withal  she  was  so  beautiful  and  so 
gentle  that  those  who  knew  the  violet  loved  her 
very  dearly. 


96  THE  ROBIN  AND   THE    VIOLET. 

The  south  wind  came  wooing  the  violet.  He 
danced  through  the  shrubbery  and  ferns,  and 
lingered  on  the  velvet  moss  where  the  little 
flower  grew.  But  when  he  kissed  her  pretty 
face  and  whispered  to  her,  she  hung  her  head 
and  said,  "  No,  no  ;  it  cannot  be." 

"Nay,  little  violet,  do  not  be  so  cruel," 
pleaded  the  south  wind ;  "  let  me  bear  you  as 
my  bride  away  to  my  splendid  home  in  the  south, 
where  all  is  warmth  and  sunshine  always." 

But  the  violet  kept  repeating,  «  No,  it  cannot 
be;  no,  it  cannot  be,"  till  at  last  the  south 
wind  stole  away  with  a  very  heavy  heart. 

And  the  rose  exclaimed,  in  an  outburst 
of  disgustful  indignation:  "What  a  foolish 
violet!  How  silly  of  her  to  refuse  such  a 
wooer  as  the  south  wind,  who  has  a  beautiful 
home  and  a  patrimony  of  eternal  warmth  and 
sunshine  !  " 

But  the  violet,  as  soon  as  the  south  wind  had 
gone,  looked  up  at  the  robin  perched  in  the 
linden-tree  and  singing  his  clear  song ;  and  it 
seemed  as  if  she  blushed  and  as  if  she  were 
thrilled  with  a  great  emotion  as  she  beheld  him. 
But  the  robin  did  not  see  the  violet.  His  eyes 


THE   ROBIN  AND   THE    VIOLET.  97 

were  turned  the  other  way,  and  he  sang  to  the 
clouds  in  the  sky. 

The  brook  o'erleapt  its  banks  one  day,  and 
straying  toward  the  linden-tree,  it  was  amazed 
at  the  loveliness  of  the  violet.  Never  had  it 
seen  any  flower  half  so  beautiful. 

"Oh,  come  and  be  my  bride,"  cried  the 
brook.  "  I  am  young  and  small  now,  but  pres 
ently  you  shall  see  me  grow  to  a  mighty  river 
whose  course  no  human  power  can  direct,  and 
whose  force  nothing  can  resist.  Cast  thyself 
upon  my  bosom,  sweet  violet,  and  let  us  float 
together  to  that  great  destiny  which  awaits  me." 
But  the  violet  shuddered  and  recoiled  and 
said  :  "  Nay,  nay,  impetuous  brook,  I  will  not 
be  your  bride."  So,  with  many  murmurs  and 
complaints,  the  brook  crept  back  to  its  jealous 
banks  and  resumed  its  devious  and  prattling 
way  to  the  sea. 

"  Bless  me  !  "  cried  the  daisy,  "  only  to  think 
of  that  silly  violet's  refusing  the  brook  !  Was 
there  ever  another  such  piece  of  folly  !  Where 
else  is  there  a  flower  that  would  not  have  been 
glad  to  go  upon  such  a  wonderful  career?  Oh, 
how  short-sighted  some  folks  are  ! " 
7 


THE  ROBIN  AND   THE    VIOLET. 


But  the  violet  paid  no  heed  to  these  words  ; 
she  looked  steadfastly  up  into  the  foliage  of  the 
linden-tree  where  the  robin  was  carolling.  The 
robin  did  not  see  the  violet  ;  he  was  singing  to 
the  tops  of  the  fir-trees  over  yonder. 

The  days  came  and  went.  The  robin  sang 
and  fluttered  in  the  greenwood,  and  the  violet 
bided  among  the  mosses  at  the  foot  of  the  lin 
den  ;  and  although  the  violet's  face  was  turned 
always  upward  to  where  the  robin  perched  and 
sang,  the  robin  never  saw  the  tender  little  flower. 

One  day  a  huntsman  came  through  the 
greenwood,  and  an  arrow  from  his  cruel  bow 
struck  the  robin  and  pierced  his  heart.  The 
robin  was  carolling  in  the  linden,  but  his  song 
was  ended  suddenly,  and  the  innocent  bird  fell 
dying  from  the  tree.  "  Oh,  it  is  only  a  robin," 
said  the  huntsman,  and  with  a  careless  laugh  he 
went  on  his  way. 

The  robin  lay  upon  the  mosses  at  the  foot  of 
the  linden,  close  beside  the  violet.  But  he 
neither  saw  nor  heard  anything,  for  his  life  was 
nearly  gone.  The  violet  tried  to  bind  his 
wound  and  stay  the  flow  of  his  heart's  blood, 
but  her  tender  services  were  vain.  The  robin 


THE  ROBLV  AND    THE    VIOLET.  99 

died  without  having  seen  her  sweet  face  or  heard 
her  gentle  voice. 

Then  the  other  birds  of  the  greenwood  came 
to  mourn  over  their  dead  friend.  The  moles 
and  the  mice  dug  a  little  grave  and  laid  the 
robin  in  it,  after  which  the  birds  brought  lichens 
and  leaves,  and  covered  the  dead  body,  and 
heaped  earth  over  all,  and  made  a  great  lamen 
tation.  But  when  they  went  away,  the  violet 
remained ;  and  after  the  sun  had  set,  and  the 
greenwood  all  was  dark,  the  violet  bent  over  the 
robin's  grave  and  kissed  it,  and  sang  to  the  dead 
robin.  And  the  violet  watched  by  the  robin's 
grave  for  weeks  and  months,  her  face  pressed 
forward  toward  that  tiny  mound,  and  her  gentle 
voice  always  singing  softly  and  sweetly  about 
the  love  she  never  had  dared  to  tell. 

Often  after  that  the  south  wind  and  the 
brook  came  wooing  her,  but  she  never  heard 
them,  or,  if  she  heard  them,  she  did  not  an 
swer.  The  vine  that  lived  near  the  chestnut 
yonder  said  the  violet  was  greatly  changed  ;  that 
from  being  a  merry,  happy  thing,  she  had  grown 
sad  and  reticent ;  she  used  to  hold  up  her  head 
as  proudly  as  the  others,  but  now  she  seemed 


IOO  THE  ROBIN  AND   THE    VIOLET. 

broken  and  weary.  The  shrubs  and  flowers  talked 
it  all  over  many  and  many  a  time,  but  none  of 
them  could  explain  the  violet's  strange  conduct. 

It  was  autumn  now,  and  the  greenwood  was 
not  what  it  had  been.  The  birds  had  flown  else 
where  to  be  the  guests  of  the  storks  during  the 
winter  months,  the  rose  had  run  away  to  be  the 
bride  of  the  south  wind,  and  the  daisy  had 
wedded  the  brook  and  was  taking  a  bridal  tour 
to  the  seaside  watering-places.  But  the  violet  still 
lingered  in  the  greenwood,  and  kept  her  vigil  at 
the  grave  of  the  robin.  She  was  pale  and  droop 
ing,  but  still  she  watched  and  sang  over  the  spot 
where  her  love  lay  buried.  Each  day  she  grew 
weaker  and  paler.  The  oak  begged  her  to  come 
and  live  among  the  warm  lichens  that  protected 
him  from  the  icy  breath  of  the  storm-king,  but 
the  violet  chose  to  watch  and  sing  over  the 
robin's  grave. 

One  morning,  after  a  night  of  exceeding  dark 
ness  and  frost,  the  boisterous  north  wind  came 
trampling  through  the  greenwood. 

"  I  have  come  for  the  violet,"  he  cried  ;  "  she 
would  not  have  my  fair  brother,  but  she  must  gi> 
with  me,  whether  it  pleases  her  or  not !  " 


THE  ROBIN  AND   THE    VIOLET.  IOl 

But  when  he  came  to  the  foot  of  the  linden- 
tree  his  anger  was  changed  to  compassion.  The 
violet  was  dead,  and  she  lay  upon  the  robin's 
grave.  Her  gentle  face  rested  close  to  the  little 
mound,  as  if,  in  her  last  moment,  the  faithful 
flower  had  stretched  forth  her  lips  to  kiss  the 
dust  that  covered  her  beloved. 

1884. 


ant) 


THE   OAK-TREE   AND   THE   IVY. 


TN  the  greenwood  stood  a  mighty  oak.  So 
majestic  was  he  that  all  who  came  that  way 
paused  to  admire  his  strength  and  beauty,  and 
all  the  other  trees  of  the  greenwood  acknowl 
edged  him  to  be  their  monarch. 

Now  it  came  to  pass  that  the  ivy  loved  the 
oak-tree,  and  inclining  her  graceful  tendrils 
where  he  stood,  she  crept  about  his  feet  and 
twined  herself  around  his  sturdy  and  knotted 
trunk.  And  the  oak-tree  pitied  the  ivy. 

"  Oho  !  "  he  cried,  laughing  boisterously,  but 
good-naturedly,  — "  oho  !  so  you  love  me,  do 
you,  little  vine  ?  Very  well,  then ;  play  about 
my  feet,  and  I  will  keep  the  storms  from  you  and 
will  tell  you  pretty  stories  about  the  clouds,  the 
birds,  and  the  stars." 

The  ivy  marvelled  greatly  at  the  strange  sto 
ries  the  oak-tree  told  ;  they  were  stories  the 


106  THE   OAK-TREE   AND    THE  IVY. 

oak-tree  heard  from  the  wind  that  loitered 
about  his  lofty  head  and  whispered  to  the  leaves 
of  his  topmost  branches.  Sometimes  the  story 
was  about  the  great  ocean  in  the  East,  some 
times  of  the  broad  prairies  in  the  West,  some 
times  of  the  ice-king  who  lived  in  the  North,  and 
sometimes  of  the  flower-queen  who  dwelt  in  the 
South.  Then,  too,  the  moon  told  a  story  to  the 
oak-tree  every  night,  —  or  at  least  every  night 
that  she  came  to  the  greenwood,  which  was  very 
often,  for  the  greenwood  is  a  very  charming 
spot,  as  we  all  know.  And  the  oak-tree  repeated 
to  the  ivy  every  story  the  moon  told  and  every 
song  the  stars  sang. 

"Pray,  what  are  the  winds  saying  now?"  or 
"  What  song  is  that  I  hear?  "  the  ivy  would  ask  ; 
and  then  the  oak-tree  would  repeat  the  story 
or  the  song,  and  the  ivy  would  listen  in  great 
wonderment. 

Whenever  the  storms  came,  the  oak-tree  cried 
to  the  little  ivy :  "  Cling  close  to  me,  and  no 
harm  shall  befall  you  !  See  how  strong  I  am  ; 
the  tempest  does  not  so  much  as  stir  me  —  I 
mock  its  fury  !  " 

Then,  seeing  how  strong  and  brave  he  was, 


THE  OAK-TREE  AND   THE  IVY.  1 07 

the  ivy  hugged  him  closely ;  his  brown,  rugged 
breast  protected  her  from  every  harm,  and  she 
was  secure. 

The  years  went  by ;  how  quickly  they  flew,  — 
spring,  summer,  winter,  and  then  again  spring, 
summer,  winter,  —  ah,  life  is  short  in  the  green 
wood  as  elsewhere  !  And  now  the  ivy  was  no 
longer  a  weakly  little  vine  to  excite  the  pity  of 
the  passer-by.  Her  thousand  beautiful  arms  had 
twined  hither  and  thither  about  the  oak-tree, 
covering  his  brown  and  knotted  trunk,  shooting 
forth  a  bright,  delicious  foliage  and  stretching  far 
up  among  his  lower  branches.  Then  the  oak- 
tree's  pity  grew  into  a  love  for  the  ivy,  and  the 
ivy  was  filled  with  a  great  joy.  And  the  oak- 
tree  and  the  ivy  were  wed  one  June  night,  and 
there  was  a  wonderful  celebration  in  the  green 
wood  ;  and  there  was  the  most  beautiful  music, 
in  which  the  pine-trees,  the  crickets,  the  katy 
dids,  the  frogs,  and  the  nightingales  joined  with 
pleasing  harmony. 

The  oak-tree  was  always  good  and  gentle  to 
the  ivy.  "  There  is  a  storm  coming  over  the 
hills,"  he  would  say.  "The  east  wind  tells  me 
so  j  the  swallows  fly  low  in  the  air,  and  the  sky 


IOS  THE   OAK-TREE  AND    THE  IVY. 

is  dark.  Cling  close  to  me,  my  beloved,  and 
no  harm  shall  befall  you." 

Then,  confidently  and  with  an  always-growing 
love,  the  ivy  would  cling  more  closely  to  the 
oak-tree,  and  no  harm  came  to  her. 

"  How  good  the  oak-tree  is  to  the  ivy  !  "  said 
the  other  trees  of  the  greenwood.  The  ivy 
heard  them,  and  she  loved  the  oak-tree  more 
and  more.  And,  although  the  ivy  was  now  the 
most  umbrageous  and  luxuriant  vine  in  all  the 
greenwood,  the  oak-tree  regarded  her  still  as 
the  tender  little  thing  he  had  laughingly  called 
to  his  feet  that  spring  day,  many  years  before,  — 
the  same  little  ivy  he  had  told  about  the  stars, 
the  clouds,  and  the  birds.  And,  just  as  patiently 
as  in  those  days  he  had  told  her  of  these  things, 
he  now  repeated  other  tales  the  winds  whis 
pered  to  his  topmost  boughs,  —  tales  of  the 
ocean  in  the  East,  the  prairies  in  the  West,  the 
ice-king  in  the  North,  and  the  flower-queen  in 
the  South.  Nestling  upon  his  brave  breast  and 
in  his  stout  arms,  the  ivy  heard  him  tell  these 
wondrous  things,  and  she  never  wearied  with  the 
listening. 

"  How  the  oak-tree  loves  her  !  "  said  the  ash. 


THE   OAK-TREE   AND    THE   IVY.  109 

"  The  lazy  vine  has  naught  to  do  but  to  twine 
herself  about  the  arrogant  oak-tree  and  hear 
him  tell  his  wondrous  stories  !  " 

The  ivy  heard  these  envious  words,  and  they 
made  her  very  sad;  but  she  said  nothing  of 
them  to  the  oak-tree,  and  that  night  the  oak- 
tree  rocked  her  to  sleep  as  he  repeated  the  lul 
laby  a  zephyr  was  singing  to  him. 

"  There  is  a  storm  coming  over  the  hills," 
said  the  oak-tree  one  day.  "The  east  wind 
tells  me  so ;  the  swallows  fly  low  in  the  air, 
and  the  sky  is  dark.  Clasp  me  round  about 
with  thy  dear  arms,  my  beloved,  and  nestle 
close  unto  my  bosom,  and  no  harm  shall  befall 
thee." 

"I  have  no  fear,"  murmured  the  ivy;  and 
she  clasped  her  arms  most  closely  about  him 
and  nestled  unto  his  bosom. 

The  storm  came  over  the  hills  and  swept 
down  upon  the  greenwood  with  deafening  thun 
der  and  vivid  lightning.  The  storm-king  him 
self  rode  upon  the  blast ;  his  horses  breathed 
flames,  and  his  chariot  trailed  through  the  air 
like  a  serpent  of  fire.  The  ash  fell  before  the 
violence  of  the  storm-king's  fury,  and  the  ce- 


HO  THE   OAK-TREE  AND    THE  IVY. 

dars  groaning  fell,  and  the  hemlocks  and  the 
pines;  but  the  oak-tree  alone  quailed  not. 

"  Oho  !  "  cried  the  storm-king,  angrily,  "  the 
oak-tree  does  not  bow  to  me,  he  does  not 
tremble  in  my  presence.  Well,  we  shall 
see." 

With  that,  the  storm-king  hurled  a  mighty 
thunderbolt  at  the  oak-tree,  and  the  brave, 
strong  monarch  of  the  greenwood  was  riven. 
Then,  with  a  shout  of  triumph,  the  storm-king 
rode  away. 

"  Dear  oak-tree,  you  are  riven  by  the  storm- 
king's  thunderbolt !  "  cried  the  ivy,  in  anguish. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  oak-tree,  feebly,  "  my  end  has 
come ;  see,  I  am  shattered  and  helpless." 

"  But  /  am  unhurt,"  remonstrated  the  ivy, 
"  and  I  will  bind  up  your  wounds  and  nurse  you 
back  to  health  and  vigor." 

And  so  it  was  that,  although  the  oak-tree  was 
ever  afterward  a  riven  and  broken  thing,  the  ivy 
concealed  the  scars  upon  his  shattered  form 
and  covered  his  wounds  all  over  with  her  soft 
foliage. 

"  I  had  hoped,  dear  one,"  she  said,  "  to  grow 
up  to  thy  height,  to  live  with  thee  among  the 


THE   OAK-TREE   AND    THE  IVY.  Ill 

clouds,  and  to  hear  the  solemn  voices  thou  didst 
hear.  Thou  wouldst  have  loved  me  better 
then?" 

But  the  old  oak-tree  said  :  "  Nay,  nay,  my 
beloved ;  I  love  thee  better  as  thou  art,  for  with 
thy  beauty  and  thy  love  thou  comfortest  mine 
age." 

Then  would  the  ivy  tell  quaint  stories  to  the 
old  and  broken  oak-tree,  —  stories  she  had 
learned  from  the  crickets,  the  bees,  the  butter 
flies,  and  the  mice  when  she  was  an  humble  little 
vine  and  played  at  the  foot  of  the  majestic  oak- 
tree,  towering  in  the  greenwood  with  no  thought 
of  the  tiny  shoot  that  crept  toward  him  with 
her  love.  And  these  simple  tales  pleased  the 
old  and  riven  oak-tree ;  they  were  not  as  heroic 
as  the  tales  the  winds,  the  clouds,  and  the  stars 
told,  but  they  were  far  sweeter,  for  they  were 
tales  of  contentment,  of  humility,  of  love. 

So  the  old  age  of  the  oak-tree  was  grander 
than  his  youth. 

And  all  who  went  through  the  greenwood 
paused  to  behold  and  admire  the  beauty  of  the 
oak-tree  then ;  for  about  his  seared  and  broken 
trunk  the  gentle  vine  had  so  entwined  her 


112  THE   OAK-TREE  AND   THE  IVY. 

graceful  tendrils  and  spread  her  fair  foliage, 
that  one  saw  not  the  havoc  of  the  years  nor  the 
ruin  of  the  tempest,  but  only  the  glory  of  the 
oak-tree's  age,  which  was  the  ivy's  love  and 
ministering. 

1886. 


* 


Margaret: 


MARGARET:   A  PEARL. 


TN  a  certain  part  of  the  sea,  very  many 
leagues  from  here,  there  once  lived  a  large 
family  of  oysters  noted  for  their  beauty  and 
size.  But  among  them  was  one  so  small,  so 
feeble,  and  so  ill-looking  as  to  excite  the  pity, 
if  not  the  contempt,  of  all  the  others.  The 
father,  a  venerable,  bearded  oyster,  of  august 
appearance  and  solemn  deportment,  was  much 
mortified  that  one  of  his  family  should  happen 
to  be  so  sickly ;  and  he  sent  for  all  the  doctors 
in  the  sea  to  come  and  treat  her ;  from  which 
circumstance  you  are  to  note  that  doctors  are 
an  evil  to  be  met  with  not  alone  upon  terra 
firma.  The  first  to  come  was  Dr.  Porpoise,  a 
gentleman  of  the  old  school,  who  floundered 
around  in  a  very  important  manner  and  was  full 
of  imposing  ceremonies. 


Il6  MARGARET:    A    PEARL. 

"  Let  me  look  at  your  tongue,"  said  Dr. 
Porpoise,  stroking  his  beard  with  one  fin,  im 
pressively.  "  Ahem  !  somewhat  coated,  I  see. 
And  your  pulse  is  far  from  normal ;  no  appetite, 
I  presume  ?  Yes,  my  dear,  your  system  is  sadly 
out  of  order.  You  need  medicine." 

The  little  oyster  hated  medicine ;  so  she 
cried,  —  yes,  she  actually  shed  cold,  briny  tears 
at  the  very  thought  of  taking  old  Dr.  Porpoise's 
prescriptions.  But  the  father-oyster  and  the 
mother-oyster  chided  her  sternly;  they  said 
that  the  medicine  would  be  nice  and  sweet,  and 
that  the  little  oyster  would  like  it.  But  the 
little  oyster  knew  better  than  all  that ;  yes,  she 
knew  a  thing  or  two,  even  though  she  was  only 
a  little  oyster. 

Now  Dr.  Porpoise  put  a  plaster  on  the  little 
oyster's  chest  and  a  blister  at  her  feet.  He 
bade  her  eat  nothing  but  a  tiny  bit  of  sea-foam 
on  toast  twice  a  day.  Every  two  hours  she  was 
to  take  a  spoonful  of  cod-liver  oil,  and  before 
each  meal  a  wineglassful  of  the  essence  of  dis 
tilled  cuttlefish.  The  plaster  she  did  n't  mind, 
but  the  blister  and  the  cod- liver  oil  were  ter 
rible  ;  and  when  it  came  to  the  essence  of  dis- 


MARGARET:    A    PEARL.  H7 


tilled  cuttlefish  —  well,  she  just  could  n't  stand 
it !  In  vain  her  mother  reasoned  with  her,  and 
promised  her  a  new  doll  and  a  skipping-rope 
and  a  lot  of  other  nice  things  :  the  little  oyster 
would  have  none  of  the  horrid  drug ;  until  at 
last  her  father,  abandoning  his  dignity  in  order 
to  maintain  his  authority,  had  to  hold  her  down 
by  main  strength  and  pour  the  medicine  into 
her  mouth.  This  was,  as  you  will  allow,  quite 
dreadful. 

But  this  treatment  did  the  little  oyster  no 
good ;  and  her  parents  made  up  their  minds 
that  they  would  send  for  another  doctor,  and 
one  of  a  different  school.  Fortunately  they 
were  in  a  position  to  indulge  in  almost  any 
expense,  since  the  father-oyster  himself  was 
president  of  one  of  the  largest  banks  of 
Newfoundland.  So  Dr.  Sculpin  came  with 
his  neat  little  medicine-box  under  his  arm. 
And  when  he  had  looked  at  the  sick  little 
oyster's  tongue,  and  had  taken  her  tempera 
ture,  and  had  felt  her  pulse,  he  said  he  knew 
what  ailed  her;  but  he  did  not  tell  anybody 
what  it  was.  He  threw  away  the  plasters,  the 
blisters,  the  cod-liver  oil,  and  the  essence  of  dis- 


Il8  MARGARET:    A    PEARL. 

tilled  cuttlefish,  and  said  it  was  a  wonder  that 
the  poor  child  had  lived  through  it  all ! 

"Will  you  please  bring  me  two  tumblerful! 
of  water?"  he  remarked  to  the  mother-oyster. 

The  mother- oyster  scuttled  away,  and  soon 
returned  with  two  conch- shells  filled  to  the 
brim  with  pure,  clear  sea-water.  Dr.  Sculpin 
counted  three  grains  of  white  sand  into  one 
shell,  and  three  grains  of  yellow  sand  into  the 
other  shell,  with  great  care. 

"  Now,"  said  he  to  the  mother-oyster,  "  I  have 
numbered  these  i  and  2.  First,  you  are  to  give 
the  patient  ten  drops  out  of  No.  2,  and  in 
an  hour  after  that,  eight  drops  out  of  No.  i  ; 
the  next  hour,  eight  drops  out  of  No.  2  ;  and 
the  next,  or  fourth,  hour,  ten  drops  out  of 
No.  i.  And  so  you  are  to  continue  hour  by 
hour,  until  either  the  medicine  or  the  child 
gives  out." 

"  Tell  me,  doctor,"  asked  the  mother,  "  shall 
she  continue  the  food  suggested  by  Dr.  Por 
poise?  " 

"What  food  did  he  recommend?"  inquired 
Dr.  Sculpin. 

"  Sea- foam  on  toast,"  answered  the  mother. 


MARGARET:    A    PEARL. 


Dr.  Sculpin  smiled  a  smile  which  seemed  to 
suggest  that  Dr.  Porpoise's  ignorance  was  really 
quite  annoying.  < 

"My  dear  madam,"  said  Dr.  Sculpin,  "the 
diet  suggested  by  that  quack,  Porpoise,  passed 
out  of  the  books  years  ago.  Give  the  child 
toast  on  sea-foam,  if  you  wish  to  build  up  her 
debilitated  forces." 

Now,  the  sick  little  oyster  did  not  object  to 
this  treatment  ;  on  the  contrary,  she  liked  it. 
But  it  did  her  no  good.  And  one  day,  when 
she  was  feeling  very  dry,  she  drank  both  tum- 
blerfuls  of  medicine,  and  it  did  not  do  her  any 
harm  ;  neither  did  it  cure  her  :  she  remained 
the  same  sick  little  oyster,  —  oh,  so  sick  ! 
This  pained  her  parents  very  much.  They 
did  not  know  what  to  do.  They  took  her 
travelling  ;  they  gave  her  into  the  care  of  the 
eel  for  electric  treatment  ;  they  sent  her  to 
the  Gulf  Stream  for  warm  baths,  —  they  tried 
everything,  but  to  no  avail.  The  sick  little 
oyster  remained  a  sick  little  oyster,  and  there 
was  an  end  of  it. 

At  last  one  day,  —  one  cruel,  fatal  day,  —  a 
horrid,  fierce-looking  machine  was  poked  down 


I2O  MARGARET:    A    PEARL. 

from  the  surface  of  the  water  far  above,  and 
with  slow  but  intrepid  movement  began  explor 
ing  every  nook  and  crevice  of  the  oyster  village. 
There  was  not  a  family  into  which  it  did  not  in 
trude,  nor  a  home  circle  whose  sanctity  it  did 
not  ruthlessly  invade.  It  scraped  along  the 
great  mossy  rock ;  and  lo  !  with  a  monstrous 
scratchy-te-scratch,  the  mother-oyster  and  the 
father-oyster  and  hundreds  of  other  oysters  were 
torn  from  their  resting-places  and  borne  aloft  in 
a  very  jumbled  and  very  frightened  condition 
by  the  impertinent  machine.  Then  down  it 
came  again,  and  the  sick  little  oyster  was  among 
the  number  of  those  who  were  seized  by  the 
horrid  monster  this  time.  She  found  herself 
raised  to  the  top  of  the  sea;  and  all  at  once 
she  was  bumped  in  a  boat,  where  she  lay,  puny 
and  helpless,  on  a  huge  pile  of  other  oysters. 
Two  men  were  handling  the  fierce-looking  ma 
chine.  A  little  boy  sat  in  the  stern  of  the  boat 
watching  the  huge  pile  of  oysters.  He  was  a 
pretty  little  boy,  with  bright  eyes  and  long 
tangled  hair.  He  wore  no  hat,  and  his  feet 
were  bare  and  brown. 

"What  a  funny  little  oyster  !  "  said  the  boy, 


MARGARET:    A    PEARL.  121 

picking  up  the  sick  little  oyster  ;  "  it  is  no  bigger 
than  my  thumb,  and  it  is  very  pale." 

"  Throw  it  away,"  said  one  of  the  men. 
"  Like  as  not  it  is  bad  and  not  fit  to  eat." 

"  No,  keep  it  and  send  it  out  West  for  a  Blue 
Point,"  said  the  other  man,  —  what  a  heartless 
wretch  he  was  ! 

But  the  little  boy  had  already  thrown  the  sick 
little  oyster  overboard.  She  fell  in  shallow 
water,  and  the  rising  tide  carried  her  still  farther 
toward  shore,  until  she  lodged  against  an  old 
gum  boot  that  lay  half  buried  in  the  sand. 
There  were  no  other  oysters  in  sight.  Her  head 
ached  and  she  was  very  weak ;  how  lonesome, 
too,  she  was  !  —  yet  anything  was  better  than 
being  eaten,  —  at  least  so  thought  the  little  oys 
ter,  and  so,  I  presume,  think  you. 

For  many  weeks  and  many  months  the  sick 
little  oyster  lay  hard  by  the  old  gum  boot ;  and 
in  that  time  she  made  many  acquaintances  and 
friends  among  the  crabs,  the  lobsters,  the  fid 
dlers,  the  star-fish,  the  waves,  the  shells,  and  the 
gay  little  fishes  of  the  ocean.  They  did  not 
harm  her,  for  they  saw  that  she  was  sick ;  they 
pitied  her  —  some  loved  her.  The  one  that 


122  MARGARET:    A    PEARL. 

loved  her  most  was  the  perch  with  green  fins 
that  attended  school  every  day  in  the  academic 
shade  of  the  big  rocks  in  the  quiet  cove  about  a 
mile  away.  He  was  very  gentle  and  attentive, 
and  every  afternoon  he  brought  fresh  cool  sea- 
foam  for  the  sick  oyster  to  eat;  he  told  her 
pretty  stones,  too,  —  stories  which  his  grand 
mother,  the  venerable  codfish,  had  told  him  of 
the  sea  king,  the  mermaids,  the  pixies,  the  water 
sprites,  and  the  other  fantastically  beautiful 
dwellers  in  ocean-depths.  Now  while  all  this 
was  very  pleasant,  the  sick  little  oyster  knew 
that  the  perch's  wooing  was  hopeless,  for  she 
was  very  ill  and  helpless,  and  could  never  think 
of  becoming  a  burden  upon  one  so  young  and 
so  promising  as  the  gallant  perch  with  green  fins. 
But  when  she  spoke  to  him  in  this  strain,  he 
would  not  listen ;  he  kept  right  on  bringing  her 
more  and  more  cool  sea-foam  every  day. 

The  old  gum  boot  was  quite  a  motherly 
creature,  and  anon  the  sick  little  oyster  became 
very  much  attached  to  her.  Many  times  as  the 
little  invalid  rested  her  aching  head  affectionately 
on  trie  instep  of  the  old  gum  boot,  the  old  gum 
boot  told  her  stories  of  the  world  beyond  the 


MARGARET:    A    PEARL. 


sea  :  how  she  had  been  born  in  a  mighty  forest, 
and  how  proud  her  folks  were  of  their  family 
tree  ;  how  she  had  been  taken  from  that  forest 
and  moulded  into  the  shape  she  now  bore  ;  how 
she  had  graced  and  served  a  foot  in  amphibious 
capacities,  until  at  last,  having  seen  many  things 
and  having  travelled  much,  she  had  been  cast  off 
and  hurled  into  the  sea  to  be  the  scorn  of  every 
crab  and  the  derision  of  every  fish.  These 
stories  were  all  new  to  the  little  oyster,  and 
amazing,  too  ;  she  knew  only  of  the  sea,  having 
lived  therein  all  her  life.  She  in  turn  told  the  old 
gum  boot  quaint  legends  of  the  ocean,  —  the  sim 
ple  tales  she  had  heard  in  her  early  home  ;  and 
there  was  a  sweetness  and  a  simplicity  in  these 
stones  of  the  deep  that  charmed  the  old  gum 
boot,  shrivelled  and  hardened  and  pessimistic 
though  she  was. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  it  all,  —  the  kindness,  the 
care,  the  amusements,  and  the  devotion  of  her 
friends,  —  the  little  oyster  remained  always  a 
sick  and  fragile  thing.  But  no  one  heard  her 
complain,  for  she  bore  her  suffering  patiently. 

Not  far  from  this  beach  where  the  ocean 
ended  its  long  travels  there  was  a  city,  and  in 


124  MARGARET:    A    PEARL. 

this  city  there  dwelt  with  her  parents  a  maiden 
of  the  name  of  Margaret.  From  infancy  she 
had  been  sickly,  and  although  she  had  now 
reached  the  years  of  early  womanhood,  she 
could  not  run  or  walk  about  as  others  did,  but 
she  had  to  be  wheeled  hither  and  thither  in  a 
chair.  This  was  very  sad  ;  yet  Margaret  was  so 
gentle  and  uncomplaining  that  from  aught  she 
said  you  never  would  have  thought  her  life  was 
full  of  suffering.  Seeing  her  helplessness,  the 
sympathetic  things  of  Nature  had  compassion 
and  were  very  good  to  Margaret.  The  sun 
beams  stole  across  her  pathway  everywhere,  the 
grass  clustered  thickest  and  greenest  where  she 
went,  the  winds  caressed  her  gently  as  they 
passed,  and  the  birds  loved  to  perch  near  her 
window  and  sing  their  prettiest  songs.  Marga 
ret  loved  them  all,  —  the  sunlight,  the  singing 
winds,  the  grass,  the  carolling  birds.  She  com 
muned  with  them ;  their  wisdom  inspired  her 
life,  and  this  wisdom  gave  her  nature  a  rare 
beauty. 

Every  pleasant  day  Margaret  was  wheeled 
from  her  home  in  the  city  down  to  the  beach, 
and  there  for  hours  she  would  sit,  looking  out, 


MARGARET:    A    PEARL.  I25 

far  out  upon  the  ocean,  as  if  she  were  commun 
ing  with  the  ocean   spirits   that  lifted  up  their 
white  arms  from  the  restless  waters  and  beck 
oned  her  to  come.      Oftentimes    the    children 
playing  on  the  beach  came  where  Margaret  sat, 
and  heard  her  tell  little  stories  of  the  pebbles 
and  the  shells,  of  the  ships  away  out  at  sea,  of 
the  ever-speeding  gulls,  of  the  grass,  of  the  flow 
ers,  and  of  the  other  beautiful  things  of  life  ;  and 
so  in  time  the  children  came  to  love  Margaret. 
Among  those  who  so  often  gathered  to  hear  the 
gentle  sick  girl  tell  her  pretty  stories  was  a  youth 
of  Margaret's   age,  —  older   than   the   others,  a 
youth  with  sturdy  frame  and  a  face  full  of  can 
dor  and  earnestness.      His  name  was  Edward, 
and   he  was  a   student  in  the  city;    he  hoped 
to   become  a  great  scholar  sometime,  and  he 
toiled  very  zealously  to  that  end.     The  patience, 
the  gentleness,  the  sweet  simplicity,  the  fortitude 
of  the  sick  girl  charmed  him.     He  found  in  her 
little  stories   a  quaint  and  beautiful  philosophy 
he  never  yet  had  found  in  books ;  there  was  a 
valor  in  her  life  he  never  yet  had  read  of  in  the 
histories.     So,  every  day  she  came  and  sat  upon 
the  beach,  Edward    came  too;   and  with   the 


MARGARET:    A    PEARL. 


children  he  heard  Margaret's  stories  of  the  sea, 
the  air,  the  grass,  the  birds,  and  the  flowers. 

From  her  moist  eyrie  in  the  surf  the  old  gum 
boot  descried  the  group  upon  the  beach  each 
pleasant  day.  Now  the  old  gum  boot  had  seen 
enough  of  the  world  to  know  a  thing  or  two,  as 
we  presently  shall  see. 

"That  tall  young  man  is  not  a  child,"  quoth 
the  old  gum  boot,  "yet  he  comes  every  day  with 
the  children  to  hear  the  sick  girl  tell  her  stories  ! 
Ah,  ha  !  " 

"  Perhaps  he  is  the  doctor,"  suggested  the 
little  oyster  ;  and  then  she  added  with  a  sigh, 
"  but,  oh  !  I  hope  not." 

This  suggestion  seemed  to  amuse  the  old  gum 
boot  highly  ;  at  least  she  fell  into  such  hysterical 
laughter  that  she  sprung  a  leak  near  her  little 
toe,  which,  considering  her  environments,  was 
a  serious  mishap. 

"Unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken,  my  child," 
said  the  old  gum  boot  to  the  little  oyster,  "that 
young  man  is  in  love  with  the  sick  girl  !  " 

"Oh,  how  terrible!"  said  the  little  oyster; 
and  she  meant  it  too,  for  she  was  thinking  of 
the  gallant  young  perch  with  green  fins. 


MARGARET:    A    PEARL.  127 

"  Well,  I  Ve  said  it,  and  I  mean  it !  "  contin 
ued  the  old  gum  boot ;  "  now  just  wait  and 
see." 

The  old  gum  boot  had  guessed  aright  —  so 
much  for  the  value  of  worldly  experience  !  Ed 
ward  loved  Margaret ;  to  him  she  was  the  most 
beautiful,  the  most  perfect  being  in  the  world ; 
her  very  words  seemed  to  exalt  his  nature.  Yet 
he  never  spoke  to  her  of  love.  He  was  content 
to  come  with  the  children  to  hear  her  stories, 
to  look  upon  her  sweet  face,  and  to  worship 
her  in  silence.  Was  not  that  a  very  wondrous 
love? 

In  course  of  time  the  sick  girl  Margaret  be 
came  more  interested  in  the  little  ones  that 
thronged  daily  to  hear  her  pretty  stories,  and  she 
put  her  beautiful  fancies  into  the  little  songs  and 
quaint  poems  and  tender  legends,  —  songs  and 
poems  and  legends  about  the  sea,  the  flowers, 
the  birds,  and  the  other  beautiful  creations  of 
Nature  ;  and  in  all  there  was  a  sweet  simplicity,  a 
delicacy,  a  reverence,  that  bespoke  Margaret's 
spiritual  purity  and  wisdom.  In  this  teaching, 
and  marvelling  ever  at  its  beauty,  Edward  grew 
to  manhood.  She  was  his  inspiration,  yet  he 


MARGARET':    A    PEARL. 


never  spoke  of  love  to  Margaret.     And  so  the 
years  went  by. 

Beginning  with  the  children,  the  world  came 
to  know  the  sick  girl's  power.  Her  songs  were 
sung  in  every  home,  and  in  every  home  her 
verses  and  her  little  stories  were  repeated.  And 
so  it  was  that  Margaret  came  to  be  beloved  of 
all,  but  he  who  loved  her  best  spoke  never  of 
his  love  to  her. 

And  as  these  years  went  by,  the  sick  little 
oyster  lay  in  the  sea  cuddled  close  to  the  old 
gum  boot.  She  was  wearier  now  than  ever  be 
fore,  for  there  was  no  cure  for  her  malady.  The 
gallant  perch  with  green  fins  was  very  sad,  for 
his  wooing  had  been  hopeless.  Still  he  was  de 
voted,  and  still  he  came  each  day  to  the  little 
oyster,  bringing  her  cool  sea- foam  and  other 
delicacies  of  the  ocean.  Oh,  how  sick  the  little 
oyster  was  !  But  the  end  came  at  last. 

The  children  were  on  the  beach  one  day, 
waiting  for  Margaret,  and  they  wondered  that 
she  did  not  come.  Presently,  grown  restless, 
many  of  the  boys  scampered  into  the  water  and 
stood  there,  with  their  trousers  rolled  up,  boldly 
daring  the  little  waves  that  rippled  up  from  the 


MARGARET:    A    PEARL.  129 

overflow  of  the  surf.  And  one  little  boy  hap 
pened  upon  the  old  gum  boot.  It  was  a  great 
discovery. 

"  See  the  old  gum  boot,"  cried  the  boy,  fish 
ing  it  out  of  the  water  and  holding  it  on  high. 
"  And  here  is  a  little  oyster  fastened  to  it !  How 
funny  !  " 

The  children  gathered  round  the  curious  ob 
ject  on  the  beach.  None  of  them  had  ever 
seen  such  a  funny  old  gum  boot,  and  surely  none 
of  them  had  ever  seen  such  a  funny  little  oyster. 
They  tore  the  pale,  knotted  little  thing  from 
her  foster-mother,  and  handled  her  with  such 
rough  curiosity  that  even  had  she  been  a  robust 
oyster  she  must  certainly  have  died.  At  any 
rate,  the  little  oyster  was  dead  now ;  and  the  be 
reaved  perch  with  green  fins  must  have  known 
it,  for  he  swam  up  and  down  his  native  cove 
disconsolately. 

It  befell  in  that  same  hour  that  Margaret  lay 
upon  her  deathbed,  and  knowing  that  she  had 
not  long  to  live,  she  sent  for  Edward.  And 
Edward,  when  he  came  to  her,  was  filled  with 
anguish,  and  clasping  her  hands  in  his,  he  told 
her  of  his  love. 

9 


I3°  MARGARET:    A    PEARL. 

Then  Margaret  answered  him  :  "  I  knew  it, 
dear  one ;  and  all  the  songs  I  have  sung  and  all 
the  words  I  have  spoken  and  all  the  prayers  I 
have  made  have  been  with  you,  dear  one,  —  all 
\vhhy0u  in  my  heart  of  hearts." 

"You  have  purified  and  exalted  my  life," 
cried  Edward ;  "  you  have  been  my  best  and 
sweetest  inspiration;  you  have  taught  me  the 
eternal  truth, — you  are  my  beloved!" 

And  Margaret  said  :  "  Then  in  my  weakness 
hath  there  been  a  wondrous  strength,  and  from 
my  sufferings  cometh  the  glory  I  have  sought !  " 

So  Margaret  died,  and  like  a  broken  lily  she 
lay  upon  her  couch ;  and  all  the  sweetness  of 
her  pure  and  gentle  life  seemed  to  come  back 
and  rest  upon  her  face ;  and  the  songs  she  had 
sung  and  the  beautiful  stories  she  had  told  came 
back,  too,  on  angel  wings,  and  made  sweet  music 
in  that  chamber. 

The  children  were  lingering  on  the  beach 
when  Edward  came  that  day.  He  could  hear 
them  singing  the  songs  Margaret  had  taught 
them.  They  wondered  that  he  came  alone. 

"  See,"  cried  one  of  the  boys,  running  to  meet 
him  and  holding  a  tiny  shell  in  his  hand,  —  "  see 


MARGARET:    A    PEARL. 


what  we  have  found  in  this  strange  little  shell. 
Is  it  not  beautiful  !  " 

Edward  took  the  dwarfed,  misshapen  thing, 
and  lo  !  it  held  a  beauteous  pearl. 

O  little  sister  mine,  let  me  look  into  your  eyes 
and  read  an  inspiration  there  ;  let  me  hold  your 
thin  white  hand  and  know  the  strength  of  a 
philosophy  more  beautiful  than  human  knowl 
edge  teaches  ;  let  me  see  in  your  dear,  patient 
little  face  and  hear  in  your  gentle  voice  the  un 
told  valor  of  your  suffering  life.  Come,  little 
sister,  let  me  fold  you  in  my  arms  and  have  you 
ever  with  me,  that  in  the  glory  of  your  faith  and 
love  I  may  walk  the  paths  of  wisdom  and  of 
peace. 

1887. 


t\)t  Springtime. 


THE  SPRINGTIME. 


A  CHILD  once  said  to  his  grandsire  :  "  Gran'- 
"^  pa,  what  do  the  flowers  mean  when  they 
talk  to  the  old  oak-tree  about  death?  I  hear 
them  talking  every  day,  but  I  cannot  under 
stand  ;  it  is  all  very  strange." 

The  grandsire  bade  the  child  think  no  more 
of  these  things ;  the  flowers  were  foolish  prat 
tlers,  —  what  right  had  they  to  put  such  notions 
into  a  child's  head  ?  But  the  child  did  not  do 
his  grandsire's  bidding ;  he  loved  the  flowers  and 
the  trees,  and  he  went  each  day  to  hear  them 
talk. 

It  seems  that  the  little  vine  down  by  the  stone 
wall  had  overheard  the  south  wind  say  to  the 
rosebush  :  "  You  are  a  proud,  imperious  beauty 
now,  and  will  not  listen  to  my  suit ;  but  wait 
till  my  bo^lerous  brother  comes  from  the  North, 
—  then  you  will  droop  and  wither  and  die,  all 


THE   SPRINGTIME. 


because  you  would  not  listen  to  me  and  fly  with 
me  to  my  home  by  the  Southern  sea." 

These  words  set   the  little  vine  to  thinking  • 

O    ) 

and  when  she  had  thought  for  a  long  time  she 
spoke  to  the  daisy  about  it,  and  the  daisy  called 
in  the  violet,  and  the  three  little  ones  had  a  very 
serious  conference  ;  but,  having  talked  it  all 
over,  they  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  as 
much  of  a  mystery  as  ever.  The  old  oak-tree 
saw  them. 

"You  little  folks  seem  very  much  puzzled 
about  something,"  said  the  old  oak-tree. 

"  I  heard  the  south  wind  tell  the  rosebush 
that  she  would  die,"  exclaimed  the  vine,  "  and 
we  do  not  understand  what  it  is.  Can  you  tell 
us  what  it  is  to  die?  " 

The  old  oak-tree  smiled  sadly. 
"  I  do  not  call  it  death,"  said  the   old   oak- 
tree  ;   "  I  call  it  sleep,  —  a  long,  restful,  refresh 
ing  sleep." 

"  How  does  it  feel?  "  inquired  the  daisy,  look 
ing  very  full  of  astonishment  and  anxiety. 

"You  must  know,"  said  the  old  oak-tree, 
"  that  after  many,  many  days  we  all  have  had 
such  merry  times  and  have  bloomed  so  long 


THE   SPRINGTIME.  137 

and  drunk  so  heartily  of  the  dew  and  sunshine 
and  eaten  so  much  of  the  goodness  of  the  earth 
that  we  feel  very  weary  and  we  long  for  repose. 
Then  a  great  wind  comes  out  of  the  north,  and 
we  shiver  in  its  icy  blast.  The  sunshine  goes 
away,  and  there  is  no  dew  for  us  nor  any  nour 
ishment  in  the  earth,  and  we  are  glad  to  go  to 
sleep." 

"  Mercy  on  me  !  "  cried  the  vine,  "  I  shall 
not  like  that  at  all !  What,  leave  this  smiling 
meadow  and  all  the  pleasant  grass  and  singing 
bees  and  frolicsome  butterflies?  No,  old  oak- 
tree,  I  would  never  go  to  sleep ;  I  much  prefer 
sporting  with  the  winds  and  playing  with  my 
little  friends,  the  daisy  and  the  violet." 

"And  I,"  said  the  violet,  "I  think  it  would 
be  dreadful  to  go  to  sleep.  What  if  we  never 
should  wake  up  again  !  " 

The  suggestion  struck  the  others  dumb  with 
terror,  —  all  but  the  old  oak-tree. 

"  Have  no  fear  of  that,"  said  the  old  oak-tree, 
"  for  you  are  sure  to  awaken  again,  and  when 
you  have  awakened  the  new  life  will  be  sweeter 
and  happier  than  the  old." 

"What  nonsense  !  "  cried  the  thistle.     "You 


138  THE  SPRINGTIME. 

children  should  n't  believe  a  word  of  it.  When 
you  go  to  sleep  you  die,  and  when  you  die 
there  's  the  last  of  you  !  " 

The  old  oak-tree  reproved  the  thistle ;  but  the 
thistle  maintained  his  abominable  heresy  so 
stoutly  that  the  little  vine  and  the  daisy  and  the 
violet  were  quite  at  a  loss  to  know  which  of  the 
two  to  believe,  —  the  old  oak-tree  or  the  thistle. 
The  child  heard  it  all  and  was  sorely  puzzled. 
What  was  this  death,  this  mysterious  sleep? 
Would  it  come  upon  him,  the  child?  And 
after  he  had  slept  awhile  would  he  awaken  ?  His 
grandsire  would  not  tell  him  of  these  things ; 
perhaps  his  grandsire  did  not  know. 

It  was  a  long,  long  summer,  full  of  sunshine 
and  bird-music,  and  the  meadow  was  like  a  gar 
den,  and  the  old  oak-tree  looked  down  upon  the 
grass  and  flowers  and  saw  that  no  evil  befell 
them.  A  long,  long  play-day  it  was  to  the  little 
vine,  the  daisy,  and  the  violet.  The  crickets 
and  the  grasshoppers  and  the  bumblebees 
joined  in  the  sport,  and  romped  and  made  music 
till  it  seemed  like  an  endless  carnival.  Only 
every  now  and  then  the  vine  and  her  little  flower 
friends  talked  with  the  old  oak-tree  about  that 


THE   SPRINGTIME.  J39 

strange  sleep  and  the  promised  awakening,  and 
the  thistle  scoffed  at  the  old  oak-tree's  cheering 
words.  The  child  was  there  and  heard  it  all. 

One  day  the  great  wind  came  out  of  the  north. 
Hurry-scurry  !  back  to  their  warm  homes  in  the 
earth  and  under  the  old  stone-wall  scampered 
the  crickets  and  bumblebees  to  go  to  sleep. 
Whirr,  whirr  !  Oh,  but  how  piercing  the  great 
wind  was  \  how  different  from  his  amiable  broth 
er  who  had  travelled  all  the  way  from  the  South 
ern  sea  to  kiss  the  flowers  and  woo  the  rose  ! 

"Well,  this  is  the  last  of  us  !  "  exclaimed  the 
thistle  ;  "  we  're  going  to  die,  and  that 's  the  end 
of  it  all !  " 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  old  oak-tree ;  "  we 
shall  not  die ;  we  are  going  to  sleep.  Here, 
take  my  leaves,  little  flowers,  and  you  shall  sleep 
warm  under  them.  Then,  when  you  awaken, 
you  shall  see  how  much  sweeter  and  happier 
the  new  life  is." 

The  little  ones  were  very  weary  indeed.  The 
promised  sleep  came  very  gratefully. 

«  We  would  not  be  so  willing  to  go  to  sleep 
if  we  thought  we  should  not  awaken,"  said  the 
violet. 


14°  THE   SPRINGTIME. 

So  the  little  ones  went  to  sleep.  The  little 
vine  was  the  last  of  all  to  sink  to  her  slumbers ; 
she  nodded  in  the  wind  and  tried  to  keep 
awake  till  she  saw  the  old  oak-tree  close  his 
eyes,  but  her  efforts  were  vain ;  she  nodded  and 
nodded,  and  bowed  her  slender  form  against  the 
old  stone-wall,  till  finally  she,  too,  had  sunk  in 
to  repose.  And  then  the  old  oak-tree  stretched 
his  weary  limbs  and  gave  a  last  look  at  the  sul 
len  sky  and  at  the  slumbering  little  ones  at  his 
feet ;  and  with  that,  the  old  oak-tree  fell  asleep 
too. 

The  child  saw  all  these  things,  and  he  wanted 
to  ask  his  grandsire  about  them,  but  his  grand- 
sire  would  not  tell  him  of  them ;  perhaps  his 
grandsire  did  not  know. 

The  child  saw  the  storm-king  come  down 
from  the  hills  and  ride  furiously  over  the  mead 
ows  and  over  the  forest  and  over  the  town. 
The  snow  fell  everywhere,  and  the  north  wind 
played  solemn  music  in  the  chimneys.  The 
storm-king  put  the  brook  to  bed,  and  threw  a 
great  mantle  of  snow  over  him ;  and  the  brook 
that  had  romped  and  prattled  all  the  summer 
and  told  pretty  tales  to  the  grass  and  flowers,  — 


THE   SPRINGTIME.  14  I 

the  brook  went  to  sleep  too.  With  all  his 
fierceness  and  bluster,  the  storm-king  was  very 
kind ;  he  did  not  awaken  the  old  oak-tree  and 
the  slumbering  flowers.  The  little  vine  lay  un 
der  the  fleecy  snow  against  the  old  stone-wall 
and  slept  peacefully,  and  so  did  the  violet  and 
the  daisy.  Only  the  wicked  old  thistle  thrashed 
about  in  his  sleep  as  if  he  dreamt  bad  dreams, 
which,  all  will  allow,  was  no  more  than  he 
deserved. 

All  through  that  winter  —  and  it  seemed  very 
long  —  the  child  thought  of  the  flowers  and  the 
vine  and  the  old  oak-tree,  and  wondered  wheth 
er  in  the  springtime  they  would  awaken  from 
their  sleep  ;  and  he  wished  for  the  springtime  to 
come.  And  at  last  the  springtime  came.  One 
day  the  sunbeams  fluttered  down  from  the  sky 
and  danced  all  over  the  meadow. 

"  Wake  up,  little  friends  !  "  cried  the  sun 
beams, —  "  wake  up,  for  it  is  the  springtime  ! " 

The  brook  was  the  first  to  respond.  So  eager, 
so  fresh,  so  exuberant  was  he  after  his  long  win 
ter  sleep,  that  he  leaped  from  his  bed  and  frol 
icked  all  over  the  meadow  and  played  all  sorts  of 
curious  antics.  Then  a  little  bluebird  was  seen 


142  THE   SPRINGTIME. 

in  the  hedge  one  morning.  He  was  calling  to 
the  violet. 

"  Wake  up,  little  violet,"  called  the  bluebird. 
"  Have  I  come  all  this  distance  to  find  you 
sleeping?  Wake  up  ;  it  is  the  springtime  !  " 

That  pretty  little  voice  awakened  the  violet, 
of  course. 

"  Oh,  how  sweetly  I  have  slept !  "  cried  the 
violet ;  "  how  happy  this  new  life  is  !  Wel 
come,  dear  friends  !  " 

And  presently  the  daisy  awakened,  fresh  and 
beautiful,  and  then  the  little  vine,  and,  last  of 
all,  the  old  oak-tree.  The  meadow  was  green, 
and  all  around  there  were  the  music,  the  fra 
grance,  the  new,  sweet  life  of  the  springtime. 

"  I  slept  horribly,"  growled  the  thistle.  "  I 
had  bad  dreams.  It  was  sleep,  after  all,  but  it 
ought  to  have  been  death." 

The  thistle  never  complained  again ;  for  just 
then  a  four-footed  monster  stalked  through  the 
meadow  and  plucked  and  ate  the  thistle  and 
then  stalked  gloomily  away ;  which  was  the  last 
of  the  sceptical  thistle,  —  truly  a  most  miserable 
end  ! 

"  You   said    the   truth,  dear   old  oak-tree  ! " 


THE   SPRINGTIME. 


cried  the  little  vine.  "It  was  not  death,  —  it 
was  only  a  sleep,  a  sweet,  refreshing  sleep,  and 
this  awakening  is  very  beautiful." 

They  all  said  so,  —  the  daisy,  the  violet,  the 
oak-tree,  the  crickets,  the  bees,  and  all  the 
things  and  creatures  of  the  field  and  forest  that 
had  awakened  from  their  long  sleep  to  swell 
the  beauty  and  the  glory  of  the  springtime. 
And  they  talked  with  the  child,  and  the  child 
heard  them.  And  although  the  grandsire  never 
spoke  to  the  child  about  these  things,  the  child 
learned  from  the  flowers  and  trees  a  lesson  of 
the  springtime  which  perhaps  the  grandsire 
never  knew. 

1885. 


ana 


10 


RODOLPH   AND   HIS  KING. 


me,  Father,"  said  the  child  at  Ro- 
dolph's  knee,  —  "  tell  me  of  the  king." 

"  There  is  no  king,  my  child,"  said  Rodolph. 
"What  you  have  heard  are  old  women's  tales. 
Do  not  believe  them,  for  there  is  no  king." 

"  But  why,  then,"  queried  the  child,  "  do  all 
the  people  praise  and  call  on  him ;  why  do 
the  birds  sing  of  the  king ;  and  why  do  the 
brooks  always  prattle  his  name,  as  they  dance 
from  the  hills  to  the  sea?" 

"  Nay,"  answered  Rodolph,  "  you  imagine 
these  things;  there  is  no  king.  Believe  me, 
child,  there  is  no  king." 

So  spake  Rodolph  ;  but  scarcely  had  he  uttered 
the  words  when  the  cricket  in  the  chimney  cor 
ner  chirped  loudly,  and  his  shrill  notes  seemed 
to  say:  "The  king  —  the  king."  Rodolph 
could  hardly  believe  his  ears.  How  had  the 


RODOLPH  AND  HIS  KING. 


cricket  learned  to  chirp  these  words?  It  was 
beyond  all  understanding.  But  still  the  cricket 
chirped,  and  still  his  musical  monotone  seemed 
to  say,  "  The  king—  the  king,"  until,  with  an  angry 
frown,  Rodolph  strode  from  his  house,  leaving 
the  child  to  hear  the  cricket's  song  alone. 

But  there  were  other  voices  to  remind  Rodolph 
of  the  king.  The  sparrows  were  fluttering  under 
the  eaves,  and  they  twittered  noisily  as  Rodolph 
strode  along,  "The  king,  king,  king  !"  "The 
king,  king,  king,"  twittered  the  sparrows,  and 
their  little  tones  were  full  of  gladness  and 
praise. 

A  thrush  sat  in  the  hedge,  and  she  was  singing 
her  morning  song.  It  was  a  hymn  of  praise,  — 
how  beautiful  it  was  !  "  The  king  —  the  king— 
the  king,"  sang  the  thrush,  and  she  sang,  too,  of 
his  goodness,  —  it  was  a  wondrous  song,  and  it 
was  all  about  the  king. 

The  doves  cooed  in  the  elm-trees.  "  Sing  to 
us  !  "  cried  their  little  ones,  stretching  out  their 
pretty  heads  from  the  nests.  Then  the  doves 
nestled  hard  by  and  murmured  lullabies,  and  the 
lullabies  were  of  the  king  who  watched  over 
and  protected  even  the  little  birds  in  their  nests. 


RODOLPH  AND  HIS  KING.  149 

Rodolph  heard  these  things,  and  they  filled 
him  with  anger. 

"It  is  a  lie!"  muttered  Rodolph;  and  in 
great  petulance  he  came  to  the  brook. 

How  noisy  and  romping  the  brook  was  ;  how 
capricious,  how  playful,  how  furtive  !  And  how 
he  called  to  the  willows  and  prattled  to  the  listen 
ing  grass  as  he  scampered  on  his  way.  But 
Rodolph  turned  aside  and  his  face  grew  darker. 
He  did  not  like  the  voice  of  the  brook  ;  for,  lo  ! 
just  as  the  cricket  had  chirped  and  the  birds 
had  sung,  so  did  this  brook  murmur  and  prattle 
and  sing  ever  of  the  king,  the  king,  the  king. 

So,  always  after  that,  wherever  Rodolph  went, 
he  heard  voices  that  told  him  of  the  king ;  yes, 
even  in  their  quiet,  humble  way,  the  flowers 
seemed  to  whisper  the  king's  name,  and  every 
breeze  that  fanned  his  brow  had  a  tale  to  tell  of 
the  king  and  his  goodness. 

"  But  there  is  no  king ! "  cried  Rodolph. 
"  They  all  conspire  to  plague  me  !  There  is  no 
king  —  there  is  no  king  !  " 

Once  he  stood  by  the  sea  and  saw  a  mighty 
ship  go  sailing  by.  The  waves  plashed  on  the 
shore  and  told  stories  to  the  pebbles  and  the 


150  RODOLPH  AND  HIS  KING. 

sands.      Rodolph  heard  their   thousand  voices, 
and  he  heard  them  telling  of  the  king. 

Then   a   great  storm  came  upon  the  sea,  a 
tempest  such  as  never  before  had  been  seen. 
The    waves    dashed    mountain-high    and    over 
whelmed  the  ship,  and  the  giant  voices  of  the 
winds  and  waves  cried  of  the  king,  the  king  ! 
The  sailors  strove  in  agony  till  all  seemed  lost. 
Then,   when    they   could    do   no    more,    they 
stretched  out  their  hands  and   called  upon  the 
king  to  save  them,—  the  king,  the  king,  the  king  ! 
Rodolph  saw  the  tempest  subside.     The  an 
gry  winds  were  lulled,  and  the  mountain  waves 
sank  into  sleep,  and  the  ship  came  safely  into 
port.     Then  the  sailors  sang  a  hymn  of  praise, 
and  the  hymn  was  of  the  king  and  to  the  king. 

"  But  there  is  no  king  !  "  cried  Rodolph.  "  It 
is  a  lie  ;  there  is  no  king  !  " 

Yet  everywhere  he  went  he  heard  always  of 
the  king;  the  king's  name  and  the  king's 
praises  were  on  every  tongue;  aye,  and  the 
things  that  had  no  voices  seemed  to  wear  the 
king's  name  written  upon  them,  until  Rodolph 
neither  saw  nor  heard  anything  that  did  not 
mind  him  of  the  king. 


RODOLPH  AND  HIS  KING. 


Then,  in  great  anger,  Rodolph  said  :  "  I  will 
go  to  the  mountain-tops  ;  there  I  shall  find  no 
birds,  nor  trees,  nor  brooks,  nor  flowers  to  prate 
of  a  monarch  no  one  has  ever  seen.  There  shall 
there  be  no  sea  to  vex  me  with  its  murmurings, 
nor  any  human  voice  to  displease  me  with  its 
superstitions." 

So  Rodolph  went  to  the  mountains,  and  he 
scaled  the  loftiest  pinnacle,  hoping  that  there  at 
last  he  might  hear  no  more  of  that  king  whom 
none  had  ever  seen.  And  as  he  stood  upon 
the  pinnacle,  what  a  mighty  panorama  was 
spread  before  him,  and  what  a  mighty  anthem 
swelled  upon  his  ears  !  The  peopled  plains,  with 
their  songs  and  murmurings,  lay  far  below  ;  on 
every  side  the  mountain  peaks  loomed  up  in 
snowy  grandeur  ;  and  overhead  he  saw  the  sky, 
blue,  cold,  and  cloudless,  from  horizon  to 
horizon. 

What  voice  was  that  which  spoke  in  Ro- 
dolph's  bosom  then  as  Rodolph's  eyes  beheld 
this  revelation? 

"There  is  a  king!"  said  the  voice.  "The 
king  lives,  and  this  is  his  abiding-place  !  " 

And    how   did    Rodolph's    heart    stand   still 


152  RODOLPH  AND  HIS  KING. 

when  he  felt  Silence  proclaim  the  king,  —  not  in 
tones  of  thunder,  as  the  tempest  had  proclaimed 
him,  nor  in  the  singing  voices  of  the  birds  and 
brooks,  but  so  swiftly,  so  surely,  so  grandly,  that 
Rodolph's  soul  was  filled  with  awe  ineffable. 

Then  Rodolph  cried  :  "  There  is  a  king,  and 
I  acknowledge  him  !  Henceforth  my  voice  shall 
swell  the  songs  of  all  in  earth  and  air  and  sea 
that  know  and  praise  his  name  !  " 

So  Rodolph  went  to  his  home.  He  heard  the 
cricket  singing  of  the  king ;  yes,  and  the  spar 
rows  under  the  eaves,  the  thrush  in  the  hedge, 
the  doves  in  the  elms,  and  the  brook,  too,  all 
singing  of  the  king ;  and  Rodolph's  heart  was 
gladdened  by  their  music.  And  all  the  earth 
and  the  things  of  the  earth  seemed  more  beau 
tiful  to  Rodolph  now  that  he  believed  in  the 
king  ;  and  to  the  song  all  Nature  sang  Rodolph's 
voice  and  Rodolph's  heart  made  harmonious 
response. 

"There  is  a  king,  my  child,"  said  Rodolph  to 
his  little  one.  "Together  let  us  sing  to  him, 
for  he  is  our  king,  and  his  goodness  abideth  for 
ever  and  forever." 

1885. 


THE   HAMPSHIRE   HILLS. 


/^VNE  afternoon  many  years  ago  two  little 
brothers  named  Seth  and  Abner  were 
playing  in  the  orchard.  They  were  not  troub 
led  with  the  heat  of  the  August  day,  for  a  soft,  cool 
wind  came  up  from  the  river  in  the  valley  over 
yonder  and  fanned  their  red  cheeks  and  played 
all  kinds  of  pranks  with  their  tangled  curls.  All 
about  them  was  the  hum  of  bees,  the  song  of 
birds,  the  smell  of  clover,  and  the  merry  music 
of  the  crickets.  Their  little  dog  Fido  chased 
them  through  the  high,  waving  grass,  and  rolled 
with  them  under  the  trees,  and  barked  himself 
hoarse  in  his  attempt  to  keep  pace  with  their 
laughter.  Wearied  at  length,  they  lay  beneath 
the  bellflower-tree  and  looked  off  at  the  Hamp 
shire  hills,  and  wondered  if  the  time  ever  would 
come  when  they  should  go  out  into  the  world 
beyond  those  hills  and  be  great,  noisy  men. 


THE   HAMPSHIRE   HILLS. 


Fido  did  not  understand  it  at  all.  He  lolled  in 
the  grass,  cooling  his  tongue  on  the  clover  bloom, 
and  puzzling  his  brain  to  know  why  his  little 
masters  were  so  quiet  all  at  once. 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  man,"  said  Abner,  ruefully. 
"  I  want  to  be  somebody  and  do  something.  It 
is  very  hard  to  be  a  little  boy  so  long  and  to 
have  no  companions  but  little  boys  and  girls,  to 
see  nothing  but  these  same  old  trees  and  this 
same  high  grass,  and  to  hear  nothing  but  the 
same  bird-songs  from  one  day  to  another." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Seth.  "I,  too,  am  very 
tired  of  being  a  little  boy,  and  I  long  to  go  out 
into  the  world  and  be  a  man  like  my  gran'pa  or 
my  father  or  my  uncles.  With  nothing  to  look 
at  but  those  distant  hills  and  the  river  in  the 
valley,  my  eyes  are  wearied  ;  and  I  shall  be  very 
happy  when  I  am  big  enough  to  leave  this  stu 
pid  place." 

Had  Fido  understood  their  words  he  would 
have  chided  them,  for  the  little  dog  loved  his 
home  and  had  no  thought  of  any  other  pleasure 
than  romping  through  the  orchard  and  playing 
with  his  little  masters  all  the  day.  But  Fido  did 
not  understand  them. 


THE  HAMPSHIRE  HILLS.  157 

The  clover  bloom  heard  them  with  sadness. 
Had  they  but  listened  in  turn  they  would  have 
heard  the  clover  saying  softly :  "  Stay  with  me 
while  you  may,  little  boys ;  trample  me  with 
your  merry  feet ;  let  me  feel  the  imprint  of  your 
curly  heads  and  kiss  the  sunburn  on  your  little 
cheeks.  Love  me  while  you  may,  for  when  you 
go  away  you  never  will  come  back." 

The  bellflower-tree  heard  them,  too,  and  she 
waved  her  great,  strong  branches  as  if  she  would 
caress  the  impatient  little  lads,  and  she  whis 
pered  :  "  Do  not  think  of  leaving  me :  you 
are  children,  and  you  know  nothing  of  the 
world  beyond  those  distant  hills.  It  is  full  of 
trouble  and  care  and  sorrow ;  abide  here  in  this 
quiet  spot  till  you  are  prepared  to  meet  the  vex 
ations  of  that  outer  world.  We  are  for  you,  — 
we  trees  and  grass  and  birds  and  bees  and  flowers. 
Abide  with  us,  and  learn  the  wisdom  we  teach." 

The  cricket  in  the  raspberry-hedge  heard 
them,  and  she  chirped,  oh  !  so  sadly :  "  You 
will  go  out  into  the  world  and  leave  us  and 
never  think  of  us  again  till  it  is  too  late  to  re 
turn.  Open  your  ears,  little  boys,  and  hear  my 
song  of  contentment." 


THE   HAMPSHIRE    HILLS. 


So  spake  the  clover  bloom  and  the  bellflower- 
tree  and  the  cricket;  and  in  like  manner  the 
robin  that  nested  in  the  linden  over  yonder, 
and  the  big  bumblebee  that  lived  in  the  hole 
under  the  pasture  gate,  and  the  butterfly  and  the 
wild  rose  pleaded  with  them,  each  in  his  own 
way  ;  but  the  little  boys  did  not  heed  them,  so 
eager  were  their  desires  to  go  into  and  mingle 
with  the  great  world  beyond  those  distant  hills. 

Many  years  went  by;  and  at  last  Seth  and 
Abner  grew  to  manhood,  and  the  time  was  come 
when  they  were  to  go  into  the  world  and  be 
brave,  strong  men.  Fido  had  been  dead  a  long 
time.  They  had  made  him  a  grave  under  the 
bellflower-tree,  —  yes,  just  where  he  had  romped 
with  the  two  little  boys  that  August  afternoon 
Fido  lay  sleeping  amid  the  humming  of  the  bees 
and  the  perfume  of  the  clover.  But  Seth  and 
Abner  did  not  think  of  Fido  now,  nor  did  they 
give  even  a  passing  thought  to  any  of  their  old 
friends,  —  the  bellflower-tree,  the  clover,  the 
cricket,  and  the  robin.  Their  hearts  beat  with 
exultation.  They  were  men,  and  they  were  go 
ing  beyond  the  hills  to  know  and  try  the  world. 

They  were  equipped  for  that  struggle,  not  in  a 


THE  HAMPSHIRE  HILLS.  1 59 

vain,  frivolous  way,  but  as  good  and  brave  young 
men  should  be.     A  gentle  mother  had  coun 
selled  them,  a  prudent  father  had  advised  them, 
and  they  had  gathered  from  the  sweet  things  of 
Nature  much  of  that  wisdom  before  which  all 
knowledge  is  as  nothing.    So  they  were  fortified. 
They  went  beyond  the  hills  and  came  into  the 
West.     How  great  and  busy  was  the  world, — 
how  great  and  busy  it  was  here  in  the  West ! 
What  a  rush  and  noise  and  turmoil  and  seeth 
ing  and  surging,  and  how  keenly  did  the  broth 
ers   have    to   watch   and   struggle   for   vantage 
ground.     Withal,  they  prospered;    the  counsel 
of   the   mother,  the   advice   of  the   father,   the 
wisdom  of  the  grass  and  flowers  and  trees,  were 
much  to  them,  and  they  prospered.    Honor  and 
riches    came    to   them,  and    they   were    happy. 
But  amid  it  all,  how  seldom  they  thought  of  the 
little  home  among  the  circling  hills  where  they 
had  learned  the  first  sweet  lessons  of  life  ! 

And  now  they  were  old  and  gray.  They  lived 
in  splendid  mansions,  and  all  people  paid  them 
honor. 

One  August  day  a  grim  messenger  stood  in 
Seth's  presence  and  beckoned  to  him. 


160  THE  HAMPSHIRE  HILLS. 


"Who  are  you?"  cried  Seth.  "  What  strange 
power  have  you  over  me  that  the  very  sight  of 
you  chills  my  blood  and  stays  the  beating  of 
my  heart?  " 

Then  the  messenger  threw  aside  his  mask, 
and  Seth  saw  that  he  was  Death.  Seth  made 
no  outcry ;  he  knew  what  the  summons  meant, 
and  he  was  content.  But  he  sent  for  Abner. 

And  when  Abner  came,  Seth  was  stretched 
upon  his  bed,  and  there  was  a  strange  look  in 
his  eyes  and  a  flush  upon  his  cheeks,  as  though 
a  fatal  fever  had  laid  hold  on  him. 

"  You  shall  not  die  !  "  cried  Abner,  and  he 
threw  himself  about  his  brother's  neck  and 
wept. 

But  Seth  bade  Abner  cease  his  outcry.  "  Sit 
here  by  my  bedside  and  talk  with  me,"  said  he, 
"and  let  us  speak  of  the  Hampshire  hills." 

A  great  wonder  overcame  Abner.  With  rev 
erence  he  listened,  and  as  he  listened,  a  sweet 
peace  seemed  to  steal  into  his  soul. 

"  I  am  prepared  for  Death,"  said  Seth,  "  and 
I  will  go  with  Death  this  day.  Let  us  talk  of 
our  childhood  now,  for,  after  all  the  battle 
with  this  great  world,  it  is  pleasant  to  think  and 


THE  HAMPSHIRE  HILLS.  l6l 

speak  of  our  boyhood  among  the  Hampshire 
hills." 

"  Say  on,  dear  brother,"  said  Abner. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  an  August  day  long  ago," 
said  Seth,  solemnly  and  softly.  "  It  was  so  very 
long  ago,  and  yet  it  seems  only  yesterday.  We 
were  in  the  orchard  together,  under  the  bell- 
flower-tree,  and  our  little  dog  —  " 

"  Fido,"  said  Abner,  remembering  it  all,  as 
the  years  came  back. 

"  Fido  and  you  and  I,  under  the  bellflower- 
tree,"  said  Seth.  "  How  we  had  played,  and 
how  weary  we  were,  and  how  cool  the  grass  was, 
and  how  sweet  was  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers  ! 
Can  you  remember  it,  brother?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Abner,  "  and  I  remember 
how  we  lay  among  the  clover  and  looked  off  at 
the  distant  hills  and  wondered  of  the  world 
beyond." 

"And  amid  our  wonderings  and  longings," 
said  Seth,  "  how  the  old  bellflower-tree  seemed 
to  stretch  her  kind  arms  down  to  us  as  if  she 
would  hold  us  away  from  that  world  beyond  the 
hills." 

"And  now  I  can  remember  that  the  clover 

ii 


THE  HAMPSHIRE  HILLS. 


whispered  to  us,  and  the  cricket  in  the  rasp 
berry-hedge  sang  to  us  of  contentment,"  said 
Abner. 

"  The  robin,  too,  carolled  in  the  linden." 

"  It  is  very  sweet  to  remember  it  now,"  said 
Seth.  «  How  blue  and  hazy  the  hills  looked  ; 
how  cool  the  breeze  blew  up  from  the  river; 
how  like  a  silver  lake  the  old  pickerel  pond  swel 
tered  under  the  summer  sun  over  beyond  the 
pasture  and  broom-corn,  and  how  merry  was 
the  music  of  the  birds  and  bees  !  " 

So  these  old  men,  who  had  been  little  boys 
together,  talked  of  the  August  afternoon  when 
with  Fido  they  had  romped  in  the  orchard  and 
rested  beneath  the  bellflower-tree.  And  Seth's 
voice  grew  fainter,  and  his  eyes  were,  oh  !  so 
dim  ;  but  to  the  very  last  he  spoke  of  the  dear 
old  days  and  the  orchard  and  the  clover  and 
the  Hampshire  hills.  And  when  Seth  fell  asleep 
forever,  Abner  kissed  his  brother's  lips  and  knelt 
at  the  bedside  and  said  the  prayer  his  mother 
had  taught  him. 

In  the  street  without  there  was  the  noise  of 
passing  carts,  the  cries  of  trades-people,  and  all 
the  bustle  of  a  great  and  busy  city  ;  but,  look- 


THE  HAMPSHIRE  HILLS.  163 

ing  upon  Seth's  dear,  dead  face,  Abner  could 
hear  only  the  music  voices  of  birds  and  crickets 
and  summer  winds  as  he  had  heard  them  with 
Seth  when  they  were  little  boys  together,  back 
among  the  Hampshire  hills. 

1885. 


's  £Ijanfe0gtotn7  out 


EZRA'S   THANKSGIV1N'   OUT   WEST. 


E 


ZRA  had  written  a  letter  to  the  home  folks, 
and  in  it  he  had  complained  that  never 
before  had  he  spent  such  a  weary,  lonesome  day 
as  this  Thanksgiving  day  had  been.  Having 
finished  this  letter,  he  sat  for  a  long  time  gazing 
idly  into  the  open  fire  that  snapped  cinders  all 
over  the  hearthstone  and  sent  its  red  forks  dan 
cing  up  the  chimney  to  join  the  winds  that 
frolicked  and  gambolled  across  the  Kansas  prai 
ries  that  raw  November  night.  It  had  rained 
hard  all  day,  and  was  cold ;  and  although  the 
open  fire  made  every  honest  effort  to  be  cheerful, 
Ezra,  as  he  sat  in  front  of  it  in  the  wooden 
rocker  and  looked  down  into  the  glowing  embers, 
experienced  a  dreadful  feeling  of  loneliness  and 
homesickness. 

"  I  'm  sick  o'  Kansas,"  said  Ezra  to  himself. 
"  Here  I  Ve  been  in  this  plaguey  country  for 


1 68         EZRA'S   THANKSGI^'IN'  OUT   WEST. 

goin'  on  a  year,  and  —  yes,  I  'm  sick  of  it,  pow 
erful  sick  of  it.  What  a  miser'ble  Thanksgivin' 
this  has  been  !  They  don't  know  what  Thanks 
givin'  is  out  this  way.  I  wish  I  was  back  in  ol' 
Mass'chusetts  —  that 's  the  country  for  me,  and 
they  hev  the  kind  o'  Thanksgivin'  I  like  !  " 

Musing  in  this  strain,  while  the  rain  went 
patter-patter  on  the  window-panes,  Ezra  saw  a 
strange  sight  in  the  fireplace,  —  yes,  right  among 
the  embers  and  the  crackling  flames  Ezra  saw  a 
strange,  beautiful  picture  unfold  and  spread  itself 
out  like  a  panorama. 

"  How  very  wonderful !  "  murmured  the 
young  man.  Yet  he  did  not  take  his  eyes  away, 
for  the  picture  soothed  him  and  he  loved  to 
look  upon  it. 

"  It  is  a  pictur'  of  long  ago,"  said  Ezra,  softly. 
"  I  had  like  to  forgot  it,  but  now  it  comes  back 
to  me  as  nat'ral-like  as  an  ol'  friend.  An'  I 
seem  to  be  a  part  of  it,  an'  the  feelin'  of  that 
time  comes  back  with  the  pictur',  too." 

Ezra  did  not  stir.  His  head  rested  upon  his 
hand,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  shadows 
in  the  firelight. 

"  It  is  a  pictur'  of  the  ol'  home,"   said  Ezra 


EZRA'S   THANKSGIVIN^   OUT   WEST.       169 

to  himself.  "I  am  back  there  in  Belchertown, 
with  the  Holyoke  hills  up  north  an'  the  Berk 
shire  mountains  a  loomin'  up  gray  an'  misty-like 
in  the  western  horizon.  Seems  as  if  it  wuz  early 
inornin' ;  everything  is  still,  and  it  is  so  cold 
when  we  boys  crawl  out  o'  bed  that,  if  it  wuz  n't 
Thanksgivin'  mornin',  we  'd  crawl  back  again  an' 
wait  for  Mother  to  call  us.  But  it  is  Thanksgivin' 
mornin',  an'  we  're  goin'  skatin'  down  on  the 
pond.  The  squealin'  o'  the  pigs  has  told  us  it 
is  five  o'clock,  and  we  must  hurry ;  we  're  goin' 
to  call  by  for  the  Dickerson  boys  an'  Hiram 
Peabody,  an'  we  Ve  got  to  hyper  !  Brother 
Amos  gets  on  about  half  o'  my  clo'es,  and  I 
get  on  'bout  half  o'  his,  but  it 's  all  the  same ; 
they  are  stout,  warm  clo'es,  and  they  're  big 
enough  to  fit  any  of  us  boys,  —  Mother  looked 
out  for  that  when  she  made  'em.  When  we  go 
downstairs  we  find  the  girls  there,  all  bundled 
up  nice  an'  warm,  —  Mary  an'  Helen  an'  Cousin 
Irene.  They  're  goin'  with  us,  an'  we  all  start 
out  tiptoe  and  quiet-like  so  's  not  to  wake  up 
the  ol'  folks.  The  ground  is  frozen  hard ;  we 
stub  our  toes  on  the  frozen  ruts  in  the  road. 
When  we  come  to  the  minister's  house,  Laura  is 


I  7°       EZRA^S   THANKSGIVIN^  OUT  WEST. 

standin'  on  the  front  stoop,  a-waitin'  for  us. 
Laura  is  the  minister's  daughter.  She  's  a  friend 
o'  Sister  Helen's  —  pretty  as  a  dagerr'otype,  an' 
gentle-like  and  tender.  Laura  lets  me  carry  her 
skates,  an'  I  'm  glad  of  it,  although  I  have  my 
hands  full  already  with  the  lantern,  the  hockies, 
and  the  rest.  Hiram  Peabody  keeps  us  waitin', 
for  he  has  overslept  himself,  an'  when  he  comes 
trottin'  out  at  last  the  girls  make  fun  of  him,  — 
all  except  Sister  Mary,  an'  she  sort  o'  sticks  up 
for  Hiram,  an'  we  're  all  so  'cute  we  kind  o'  cal- 
c'late  we  know  the  reason  why. 

"And  now,"  said  Ezra,  softly,  "  the  pictur' 
changes;  seems  as  if  I  could  see  the  pond. 
The  ice  is  like  a  black  lookin'-glass,  and  Hiram 
Peabody  slips  up  the  first  thing,  an'  down  he 
comes  lickety-split,  an'  we  all  laugh,  —  except 
Sister  Mary,  an'  she  says  it  is  very  imp'lite  to 
laugh  at  other  folks'  misfortunes.  Ough  !  how 
cold  it  is,  and  how  my  fingers  ache  with  the 
frost  when  I  take  off  my  mittens  to  strap  on 
Laura's  skates  !  But,  oh,  how  my  cheeks  burn  ! 
And  how  careful  I  am  not  to  hurt  Laura,  an' 
how  I  ask  her  if  that 's  '  tight  enough,'  an'  how 
she  tells  me  -jist  a  little  tighter,'  and  how  we 


EZRA'S    THANKSGIVIW   OUT   WEST.       iyi 

two  keep  foolin'  along  till  the  others  hev  gone 
an'  we  are  left  alone  !  An'  how  quick  I  get  my 
own  skates  strapped  on,  —  none  o'  your  new 
fangled  skates  with  springs  an'  plates  an'  clamps 
an'  such,  but  honest,  ol'-fashioned  wooden  ones 
with  steel  runners  that  curl  up  over  my  toes  an' 
have  a  bright  brass  button  on  the  end  !  How  I 
strap  'em  and  lash  'em  and  buckle  'em  on  ! 
An'  Laura  waits  for  me  an'  tells  me  to  be  sure 
to  get  'em  on  tight  enough,  —  why,  bless  me  ! 
after  I  once  got  'em  strapped  on,  if  them  skates 
hed  come  off,  the  feet  wud  ha'  come  with  'em  ! 
An'  now  away  we  go,  —  Laura  an'  me.  Around 
the  bend — near  the  medder  where  Si  Barker's 
dog  killed  a  woodchuck  last  summer  —  we  meet 
the  rest.  We  forget  all  about  the  cold.  We 
run  races  an'  play  snap  the  whip,  an'  cut  all 
sorts  o'  didoes,  an'  we  never  mind  the  pick'rel 
weed  that  is  froze  in  on  the  ice  an'  trips  us  up 
every  time  we  cut  the  outside  edge ;  an'  then 
we  boys  jump  over  the  air-holes,  an'  the  girls 
stan'  by  an'  scream  an'  tell  us  they  know  we  're 
agoin'  to  drownd  ourselves.  So  the  hours  go, 
an'  it  is  sun-up  at  last,  an'  Sister  Helen  says 
we  must  be  gettin'  home.  When  we  take  our 


I72         EZRA'S    THANKSGI^IN^   OUT   WEST. 

skates  off,  our  feet  feel  as  if  they  were  wood. 
Laura  has  lost  her  tippet ;  I  lend  her  mine,  and 
she  kind  o'  blushes.  The  old  pond  seems  glad 
to  have  us  go,  and  the  fire-hangbird's  nest  in  the 
wilier-tree  waves  us  good-by.  Laura  promises 
to  come  over  to  our  house  in  the  evenin',  and 
so  we  break  up. 

"  Seems  now,"  continued  Ezra,  musingly, — 
"  seems  now  as  if  I  could  see  us  all  at  breakfast. 
The  race  on  the  pond  has  made  us  hungry,  and 
Mother  says  she  never  knew  anybody  else's  boys 
that  had  such  capac'ties  as  hers.  It  is  the  Yan 
kee  Thanksgivin'  breakfast,  —  sausages  an'  fried 
potatoes,  an'  buckwheat  cakes  an'  syrup,  —  ma 
ple  syrup,  mind  ye,  for  Father  has  his  own  sugar 
bush,  and  there  was  a  big  run  o'  sap  last  season. 
Mother  says,  '  Ezry  an'  Amos,  won't  you  never 
get  through  eatin'  ?  We  want  to  clear  off  the 
table,  for  there 's  pies  to  make,  an'  nuts  to 
crack,  and  laws  sakes  alive  !  the  turkey  's  got  to 
be  stuffed  yit  ! '  Then  how  we  all  fly  round  ! 
Mother  sends  Helen  up  into  the  attic  to  get  a 
squash  while  Mary 's  makin'  the  pie-crust. 
Amos  an'  I  crack  the  walnuts,  —  they  call  'em 
hickory  nuts  out  in  this  pesky  country  of  sage- 


EZRA'S   THANKSGIVIN^  OUT   IVEST.        173 

brush  and  pasture  land.     The  walnuts  are  hard, 
and   it 's  all  we  can   do   to   crack   'em.     Ev'ry 
once  'n  a  while  one  on  'em  slips  outer  our  fingers 
an'  goes  dancin'  over  the  floor  or  flies  into  the 
pan  Helen  is  squeezin'  pumpkin   into  through 
the  col'nder.    Helen  says  we  're  shif  less  an'  good 
for  nothin'  but  frivolin'  ;  but  Mother  tells  us  how 
to  crack  the  walnuts  so  's  not  to  let  'em  fly  all 
over  the  room,  an'  so  's  not  to  be  all  jammed  to 
pieces  like  the  walnuts  was  down  at  the  party  at 
the  Peasleys'  last  winter.     An'  now  here  comes 
Tryphena  Foster,  with  her  gingham   gown  an' 
muslin   apron  on;  her  folks    have  gone  up  to 
Amherst    for    Thanksgivin',  an'    Tryphena    has 
come    over    to    help    our    folks    get    dinner. 
She  thinks  a  great  deal  o'  Mother,  'cause  Mother 
teaches    her  Sunday-school  class  an'  says  Try 
phena  oughter    marry  a  missionary.     There    is 
bustle  everywhere,  the  rattle  uv  pans  an'  the  clat 
ter  of  dishes  ;  an'  the  new  kitch'n  stove  begins  to 
warm  up  an'  git  red,  till  Helen  loses  her  wits  an* 
is  flustered,  an'  sez  she  never  could  git  the  hang 
o'  that  stove's  dampers. 

"An'  now,"  murmured  Ezra,  gently,  as  a  tone 
of  deeper  reverence  crept  into  his  voice,  "  I  can 


174        EZRA'S   THANKSGIVIN^  OUT  WEST 

see  Father  sittin'  all  by  himself  in  the  parlor. 
Father's  hair  is  very  gray,  and  there  are  wrin 
kles  on  his  honest  old  face.  He  is  lookin' 
through  the  winder  at  the  Holyoke  hills  over 
yonder,  and  I  can  guess  he  's  thinkin'  of  the 
time  when  he  wuz  a  boy  like  me  an'  Amos,  an' 
useter  climb  over  them  hills  an'  kill  rattlesnakes 
an'  hunt  partridges.  Or  doesn't  his  eyes  quite 
reach  the  Holyoke  hills?  Do  they  fall  kind  o' 
lovingly  but  sadly  on  the  little  buryin'  ground 
jest  beyond  the  village  ?  Ah,  Father  knows  that 
spot,  an'  he  loves  it,  too,  for  there  are  treasures 
there  whose  memory  he  would  n't  swap  for  all  the 
world  could  give.  So,  while  there  is  a  kind  o' 
mist  in  Father's  eyes,  I  can  see  he  is  dreamin'- 
like  of  sweet  an'  tender  things,  and  a-communhY 
with  memory,  —  hearin'  voices  I  never  heard  an' 
feelin'  the  tech  of  hands  I  never  pressed ;  an' 
seem'  Father's  peaceful  face  I  find  it  hard  to 
think  of  a  Thanksgivin'  sweeter  than  Father's  is. 
"The  pictur'  in  the  firelight  changes  now," 
said  Ezra,  "  an'  seems  as  if  I  wuz  in  the  old 
frame  meetin'-house.  The  meetin'-house  is  on 
the  hill,  and  meetin'  begins  at  half  pas'  ten. 
Our  pew  is  well  up  in  front,  —  seems  as  if  I  could 


EZRA'S   THANKSGIVIN^  OUT  WEST.        175 

see  it  now.  It  has  a  long  red  cushion  on  the 
seat,  and  in  the  hymn-book  rack  there  is  a 
Bible  an'  a  couple  of  Psalmodies.  We  walk  up 
the  aisle  slow,  and  Mother  goes  in  first ;  then 
comes  Mary,  then  me,  then  Helen,  then  Amos, 
and  then  Father.  Father  thinks  it  is  jest  as 
well  to  have  one  o'  the  girls  set  in  between 
me  an'  Amos.  The  meetin'-house  is  full,  for 
everybody  goes  to  meetin'  Thanksgivin'  day. 
The  minister  reads  the  proclamation  an'  makes 
a  prayer,  an'  then  he  gives  out  a  psalm,  an'  we 
all  stan'  up  an'  turn  'round  an'  join  the  choir. 
Sam  Merritt  has  come  up  from  Palmer  to  spend 
Thanksgivin'  with  the  ol'  folks,  an'  he  is  singin' 
tenor  to-day  in  his  ol'  place  in  the  choir.  Some 
folks  say  he  sings  wonderful  well,  but  /  don't 
like  Sam's  voice.  Laura  sings  soprano  in  the 
choir,  and  Sam  stands  next  to  her  an'  holds  the 
book. 

"  Seems  as  if  I  could  hear  the  minister's 
voice,  full  of  earnestness  an'  melody,  comin' 
from  way  up  in  his  little  round  pulpit.  He  is 
tellin'  us  why  we  should  be  thankful,  an',  as  he 
quotes  Scriptur'  an'  Dr.  Watts,  we  boys  wonder 
how  anybody  can  remember  so  much  of  the 


i;6         EZRA*S    THANKSGIVIW  OUT   WEST. 

Bible.  Then  I  get  nervous  and  worried.  Seems 
to  me  the  minister  was  never  comin'  to  lastly, 
and  I  find  myself  wonderin'  whether  Laura  is 
listenin'  to  what  the  preachin'  is  about,  or  is 
writin'  notes  to  Sam  Merritt  in  the  back  of  the 
tune  book.  I  get  thirsty,  too,  and  I  fidget  about 
till  Father  looks  at  me,  and  Mother  nudges  Helen, 
and  Helen  passes  it  along  to  me  with  interest. 

"An'  then,"  continues  Ezra  in  his  revery, 
"  when  the  last  hymn  is  given  out  an'  we  stan' 
up  agin  an'  join  the  choir,  I  am  glad  to  see 
that  Laura  is  singin'  outer  the  book  with  Miss 
Hubbard,  the  alto.  An'  goin'  out  o'  meetin'  I 
kind  of  edge  up  to  Laura  and  ask  her  if  I  kin 
have  the  pleasure  of  seein'  her  home, 

"  An'  now  we  boys  all  go  out  on  the  Common 
to  play  ball.  The  Enfield  boys  have  come  over, 
and,  as  all  the  Hampshire  county  folks  know, 
they  are  tough  fellers  to  beat.  Gorham  Polly 
keeps  tally,  because  he  has  got  the  newest  jack- 
knife,  —  oh,  how  slick  it  whittles  the  old  broom- 
handle  Gorham  picked  up  in  Packard's  store  an' 
brought  along  jest  to  keep  tally  on  !  It  is  a 
great  game  of  ball;  the  bats  are  broad  and 
light,  and  the  ball  is  small  and  soft,  But  the 


EZRA'S   THANKSGIVIfT   OUT   WEST.        I'll 

Enfield  boys  beat  us  at  last ;  leastwise  they  make 
70  tallies  to  our  58,  when  Heman  Fitts  knocks 
the  ball  over  into  Aunt  Dorcas  Eastman's  yard, 
and  Aunt  Dorcas  comes  out  an'  picks  up  the 
ball  an'  takes  it  into  the  house,  an'  we  have  to 
stop  playin'.  Then  Phineas  Owens  allows  he 
can  flop  any  boy  in  Belchertown,  an'  Moses 
Baker  takes  him  up,  an'  they  wrassle  like  two 
tartars,  till  at  last  Moses  tuckers  Phineas  out  an' 
downs  him  as  slick  as  a  whistle. 

"  Then  we  all  go  home,  for  Thanksgivin'  din 
ner  is  ready.  Two  long  tables  have  been  made 
into  one,  and  one  of  the  big  tablecloths  Gran'- 
ma  had  when  she  set  up  housekeepin'  is  spread 
over  'em  both.  We  all  set  round,  —  Father, 
Mother,  Aunt  Lydia  Holbrook,  Uncle  Jason, 
Mary,  Helen,  Tryphena  Foster,  Amos,  and  me. 
How  big  an'  brown  the  turkey  is,  and  how  good 
it  smells !  There  are  bounteous  dishes  of 
mashed  potato,  turnip,  an'  squash,  and  the  cel 
ery  is  very  white  and  cold,  the  biscuits  are  light 
an'  hot,  and  the  stewed  cranberries  are  red  as 
Laura's  cheeks.  Amos  and  I  get  the  drum 
sticks  ;  Mary  wants  the  wish-bone  to  put  over 
the  door  for  Hiram,  but  Helen  gets  it.  Poor 


12 


I?  EZRA'S    THANKSGIVIN^   OUT   WEST. 

Mary,  she  always  did  have  to  give  up  to  '  rushin' 
Helen,'  as  we  call  her.  The  pies,  —  oh,  what 
pies  mother  makes ;  no  dyspepsia  in  'em,  but 
good-nature  an'  good  health  an'  hospitality  J 
Pumpkin  pies,  mince  an'  apple  too,  and 
then  a  big  dish  of  pippins  an'  russets  an'  bell- 
flowers,  an',  last  of  all,  walnuts  with  cider  from 
the  Zebrina  Dickerson  farm  !  I  tell  ye,  there  's  a 
Thanksgivin'  dinner  for  ye  !  that 's  what  we  get  in 
old  Belchertown  ;  an'  that 's  the  kind  of  livin'  that 
makes  the  Yankees  so  all-fired  good  an'  smart. 

"But  the  best  of  all,"  said  Ezra,  very  softly 
to  himself,  —  "oh,  yes,  the  best  scene  in  all 
the  pictur'  is  when  evenin'  comes,  when  the 
lamps  are  lit  in  the  parlor,  when  the  neighbors 
come  in,  and  when  there  is  music  an'  singin'  an' 
games.  An'  it 's  this  part  o'  the  pictur'  that 
makes  me  homesick  now  and  fills  my  heart  with 
a  longin'  I  never  had  before ;  an'  yet  it  sort 
o'  mellows  an'  comforts  me,  too.  Miss  Serena 
Cadwell,  whose  beau  was  killed  in  the  war,  plays 
on  the  melodeon,  and  we  all  sing,  —  all  on  us, 
men,  womenfolks,  an'  children.  Sam  Merritt  is 
there,  an'  he  sings  a  tenor  song  about  love.  The 
women  sort  of  whisper  round  that  he  's  goin'  to 


EZRA'S   THANKSGIVIN^  OUT  WEST.        I  79 

be  married  to  a  Palmer  lady  nex'  spring,  an'  I 
think  to  myself  I  never  heard  better  singin'  than 
Sam's.  Then  we  play  games,  —  proverbs,  buzz, 
clap-in-clap-out,  Copenhagen,  fox-an'-geese,  but- 
ton-button-who  's-got-the-button,  spin-the-plat- 
ter,  go-to-Jerusalem,  my-ship  's-come-in,  and  all 
the  rest.  The  oP  folks  play  with  the  young 
folks  just  as  nat'ral  as  can  be ;  and  we  all  laugh 
when  Deacon  Hosea  Cowles  hez  to  measure  six 
yards  of  love  ribbon  with  Miss  Hepsy  Newton, 
and  cut  each  yard  with  a  kiss ;  for  the  deacon 
hez  been  sort  o'  purrin'  round  Miss  Hepsy  for 
goin'  on  two  years.  Then,  aft'r  a  while,  when 
Mary  an'  Helen  bring  in  the  cookies,  nutcakes, 
cider,  an'  apples,  Mother  says  :  '  I  don't  b'lieve 
we  're  goin'  to  hev  enough  apples  to  go  round  ; 
Ezry,  I  guess  I  '11  have  to  get  you  to  go  down- 
cellar  for  some  more.'  Then  I  says  :  '  All  right, 
Mother,  I  '11  go,  providin'  some  one  '11  go  along 
an'  hold  the  candle.'  An'  when  I  say  this  I 
look  right  at  Laura,  an'  she  blushes.  Then  Helen, 
jest  for  meanness,  says :  '  Ezry,  I  s'pose  you 
aint  willin'  to  have  your  fav'rite  sister  go  down- 
cellar  with  you  an'  catch  her  death  o'  cold  ?  ' 
But  Mary,  who  hez  been  showin'  Hiram  Peabody 


IO        EZRA'S    THANKSGIVIN^   OUT   WEST. 

the  phot'graph  album  for  more  'n  an  hour,  comes 
to  the  rescue  an'  makes  Laura  take  the  candle, 
and  she  shows  Laura  how  to  hold  it  so  it  won't 
go  out. 

"  The  cellar  is  warm  an'  dark.  There  are 
cobwebs  all  between  the  rafters  an'  everywhere 
else  except  on  the  shelves  where  Mother  keeps 
the  butter  an'  eggs  an'  other  things  that  would 
freeze  in  the  butt'ry  upstairs.  The  apples  are 
in  bar'ls  up  against  the  wall,  near  the  potater- 
bin.  How  fresh  an'  sweet  they  smell !  Laura 
thinks  she  sees  a  mouse,  an'  she  trembles  an' 
wants  to  jump  up  on  the  pork  bar'l,  but  I  tell 
her  that  there  sha'n't  no  mouse  hurt  her  while 
I  'm  round  ;  and  I  mean  it,  too,  for  the  sight 
of  Laura  a-tremblin'  makes  me  as  strong  as  one 
of  Father's  steers.  *  What  kind  of  apples  do 
you  like  best,  Ezry  ?  '  asks  Laura,  — '  russets  or 
greenin's  or  crow-eggs  or  bellflowers  or  Bald 
wins  or  pippins?'  'I  like  the  Baldwins  best,' 
says  I,  •'  'coz  they  Ve  got  red  cheeks  just  like 
yours.'  « Why,  Ezry  Thompson  !  how  you  talk  ! ' 
says  Laura.  '  You  oughter  be  ashamed  of  your 
self  ! '  But  when  I  get  the  dish  filled  up  with 
apples  there  aint  a  Baldwin  in  all  the  lot  that 


EZRA'S   THANKSGIVIN^  OUT   WEST.        l8l 

can  compare  with  the  bright  red  of  Laura's 
cheeks.  An'  Laura  knows  it,  too,  an'  she  sees 
the  mouse  agin,  an'  screams,  and  then  the  can 
dle  goes  out,  and  we  are  in  a  dreadful  stew. 
But  I,  bein'  almost  a  man,  contrive  to  bear  up 
under  it,  and  knowin'  she  is  an  orph'n,  I  com 
fort  an'  encourage  Laura  the  best  I  know  how, 
and  we  are  almost  upstairs  when  Mother  comes 
to  the  door  and  wants  to  know  what  has  kep' 
us  so  long.  Jest  as  if  Mother  does  n't  know  ! 
Of  course  she  does ;  an'  when  Mother  kisses 
Laura  good-by  that  night  there  is  in  the  act  a 
tenderness  that  speaks  more  sweetly  than  even 
Mother's  words. 

"  It  is  so  like  Mother,"  mused  Ezra ;  "  so  like 
her  with  her  gentleness  an'  clingin'  love.  Hers  is 
the  sweetest  picture  of  all,  and  hers  the  best  love." 

Dream  on,  Ezra ;  dream  of  the  old  home 
with  its  dear  ones,  its  holy  influences,  and  its 
precious  inspiration,  —  mother.  Dream  on  in 
the  far-away  firelight ;  and  as  the  angel  hand  of 
memory  unfolds  these  sacred  visions,  with  thee 
and  them  shall  abide,  like  a  Divine  comforter, 
the  spirit  of  thanksgiving. 

1885. 


ilufctoig 


LUDWIG  AND   ELOISE. 


upon  a  time  there  were  two  youths 
named  Herman  and  Ludwig ;  and  they 
both  loved  Eloise,  the  daughter  of  the  old  bur 
gomaster.  Now,  the  old  burgomaster  was  very 
rich,  and  having  no  child  but  Eloise,  he  was 
anxious  that  she  should  be  well  married  and  set 
tled  in  life.  "  For,"  said  he,  "  death  is  likely  to 
come  to  me  at  any  time  :  I  am  old  and  feeble, 
and  I  want  to  see  my  child  sheltered  by  anoth 
er's  love  before  I  am  done  with  earth  forever." 

Eloise  was  much  beloved  by  all  the  youth  in 
the  village,  and  there  was  not  one  who  would 
not  gladly  have  taken  her  to  wife ;  but  none 
loved  her  so  much  as  did  Herman  and  Ludwig, 
Nor  did  Eloise  care  for  any  but  Herman  and 
Ludwig,  and  she  loved  Herman.  The  burgo 
master  said  :  "  Choose  whom  you  will  —  I  care 


I  86  LUDWIG  AND  ELOISE. 

not !  So  long  as  he  be  honest  I  will  have  him 
for  a  son  and  thank  Heaven  for  him." 

So  Eloise  chose  Herman,  and  all  said  she 
chose  wisely ;  for  Herman  was  young  and  hand 
some,  and  by  his  valor  had  won  distinction  in 
the  army,  and  had  thrice  been  complimented  by 
the  general.  So  when  the  brave  young  captain 
led  Eloise  to  the  altar  there  was  great  rejoic 
ing  in  the  village.  The  beaux,  forgetting  their 
disappointments,  and  the  maidens,  seeing  the 
cause  of  all  their  jealousy  removed,  made  merry 
together ;  and  it  was  said  that  never  had  there 
been  in  the  history  of  the  province  an  event  so 
joyous  as  was  the  wedding  of  Herman  and 
Eloise. 

But  in  all  the  Village  there  was  one  aching 
heart.  Ludwig,  the  young  musician,  saw  with 
quiet  despair  the  maiden  he  loved  go  to  the 
altar  with  another.  He  had  known  Eloise  from 
childhood,  and  he  could  not  say  when  his  love 
of  her  began,  it  was  so  very  long  ago ;  but  now 
he  knew  his  heart  was  consumed  by  a  hopeless 
passion.  Once,  at  a  village  festival,  he  had  be 
gun  to  speak  to  her  of  his  love ;  but  Eloise  had 
placed  her  hand  kindly  upon  his  lips  and  told 


LUDW1G  AND  ELO1SE.  187 

him  to  say  no  further,  for  they  had  always  been 
and  always  would  be  brother  and  sister.  So 
Ludwig  never  spoke  his  love  after  that,  and 
Eloise  and  he  were  as  brother  and  sister ;  but 
the  love  of  her  grew  always  within  him,  and  he 
had  no  thought  but  of  her. 

And  now,  when  Eloise  and  Herman  were  wed, 
Ludwig  feigned  that  he  had  received  a  message 
from  a  rich  relative  in  a  distant  part  of  the  king 
dom  bidding  him  come  thither,  and  Ludwig  went 
from  the  village  and  was  seen  there  no  more. 

When  the  burgomaster  died  all  his  possessions 
went  to  Herman  and  Eloise  ;  and  they  were  ac 
counted  the  richest  folk  in  the  province,  and 
so  good  and  charitable  were  they  that  they  were 
beloved  by  all.  Meanwhile  Herman  had  risen 
to  greatness  in  the  army,  for  by  his  valorous  ex 
ploits  he  had  become  a  general,  and  he  was  much 
endeared  to  the  king.  And  Eloise  and  Herman 
lived  in  a  great  castle  in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful 
park,  and  the  people  came  and  paid  them  rev 
erence  there. 

And  no  one  in  all  these  years  spoke  of  Lud 
wig.  No  one  thought  of  him.  Ludwig  was 
forgotten.  And  so  the  years  went  by. 


I  88  LUDWIG  AND  ELOISE. 

It  came  to  pass,  however,  that  from  a  far- 
distant  province  there  spread  the  fame  of  a  mu 
sician  so  great  that  the  king  sent  for  him  to  visit 
the  court.  No  one  knew  the  musician's  name 
nor  whence  he  came,  for  he  lived  alone  and 
would  never  speak  of  himself;  but  his  music 
was  so  tender  and  beautiful  that  it  was  called 
heart-music,  and  he  himself  was  called  the 
Master.  He  was  old  and  bowed  with  infirmities, 
but  his  music  was  always  of  youth  and  love  ;  it 
touched  every  heart  with  its  simplicity  and  pa 
thos,  and  all  wondered  how  this  old  and  broken 
man  could  create  so  much  of  tenderness  and 
sweetness  on  these  themes. 

But  when  the  king  sent  for  the  Master  to 
come  to  court  the  Master  returned  him  answer : 
"  No,  I  am  old  and  feeble.  To  leave  my  home 
would  weary  me  unto  death.  Let  me  die  here 
as  I  have  lived  these  long  years,  weaving  my 
music  for  hearts  that  need  my  solace." 

Then  the  people  wondered.  But  the  king  was 
not  angry ;  in  pity  he  sent  the  Master  a  purse 
of  gold,  and  bade  him  come  or  not  come,  as 
he  willed.  Such  honor  had  never  before  been 
shown  any  subject  in  the  kingdom,  and  all  the 


LUDWIG  AND  ELOISE. 


people  were  dumb  with  amazement.  But  the 
Master  gave  the  purse  of  gold  to  the  poor  of 
the  village  wherein  he  lived. 

In  those  days  Herman  died,  full  of  honors  and 
years,  and  there  was  a  great  lamentation  in  the 
land,  for  Herman  was  beloved  by  all.  And  Eloise 
wept  unceasingly  and  would  not  be  comforted. 

On  the  seventh  day  after  Herman  had  been 
buried  there  came  to  the  castle  in  the  park  an 
aged  and  bowed  man  who  carried  in  his  white 
and  trembling  hands  a  violin.  His  kindly  face 
was  deeply  wrinkled,  and  a  venerable  beard 
swept  down  upon  his  breast.  He  was  weary 
and  footsore,  but  he  heeded  not  the  words  of 
pity  bestowed  on  him  by  all  who  beheld  him 
tottering  on  his  way.  He  knocked  boldly  at 
the  castle  gate,  and  demanded  to  be  brought  into 
the  presence  of  Eloise. 

And  Eloise  said  :  "  Bid  him  enter  ;  perchance 
his  music  will  comfort  my  breaking  heart." 

Then,  when  the  old  man  had  come  into  her 
presence,  behold  !  he  was  the  Master,  —  ay,  the 
Master  whose  fame  was  in  every  land,  whose 
heart-music  was  on  every  tongue. 

"  If  thou  art  indeed  the  Master,"  said  Eloise, 


19°  LUDWIG  AND  ELOISE. 

"  let    thy    music    be    balm    to    my    chastened 
spirit." 

The  Master  said  :  "  Ay,  Eloise,  I  will  comfort 
thee  in  thy  sorrow,  and  thy  heart  shall  be  stayed, 
and  a  great  joy  will  come  to  thee." 

Then  the  Master  drew  his  bow  across  the 
strings,  and  lo !  forthwith  there  arose  such 
harmonies  as  Eloise  had  never  heard  before. 
Gently,  persuasively,  they  stole  upon  her  senses 
and  filled  her  soul  with  an  ecstasy  of  peace. 

"Is  it  Herman  that  speaks  to  me?"  cried 
Eloise.  "  It  is  his  voice  I  hear,  and  it  speaks  to 
me  of  love.  With  thy  heart-music,  O  Master, 
all  the  sweetness  of  his  life  comes  back  to 
comfort  me  !  " 

.  The  Master  did  not  pause ;  as  he  played,  it 
seemed  as  if  each  tender  word  and  caress  of 
Herman's  life  was  stealing  back  on  music's  pin 
ions  to  soothe  the  wounds  that  death  had 
made. 

"  It  is  the  song  of  our  love-life,"  murmured 
Eloise.  "  How  full  of  memories  it  is  —  what 
tenderness  and  harmony  —  and,  oh  !  what  peace 
it  brings  !  But  tell  me,  Master,  what  means 
this  minor  chord,  —  this  undertone  of  sadness 


LUDWIG  AND   ELOISE.  I9I 

and  of  pathos  that  flows  like  a  deep,  unfathom 
able  current  throughout  it  all,  and  wailing,  weaves 
itself  about  thy  theme  of  love  and  happiness  with 
its  weird  and  subtile  influences?" 

Then  the  Master  said  :  "  It  is  that  shade  of 
sorrow  and  sacrifice,  O  Eloise,  that  ever  makes 
the  picture  of  love  more  glorious.  An  under 
tone  of  pathos  has  been  my  part  in  all  these 
years  to  symmetrize  the  love  of  Herman  and 
Eloise.  The  song  of  thy  love  is  beautiful,  and 
who  shall  say  it  is  not  beautified  by  the  sad 
undertone  of  Ludwig's  broken  heart?" 

"Thou  art  Ludwig  !  "  cried  Eloise.  "Thou 
art  Ludwig,  who  didst  love  me,  and  hast  come 
to  comfort  me  who  loved  thee  not ! " 

The  Master  indeed  was  Ludwig ;  but  when 
they  hastened  to  do  him  homage  he  heard  them 
not,  for  with  that  last  and  sweetest  heart-song 
his  head  sank  upon  his  breast,  and  he  was 
dead. 


1885. 


ILittk 


FIDO'S   LITTLE   FRIEND. 


E  morning  in  May  Fido  sat  on  the  front 
porch,  and  he  was  deep  in  thought.  He 
was  wondering  whether  the  people  who  were 
moving  into  the  next  house  were  as  cross  and 
unfeeling  as  the  people  who  had  just  moved  out. 
He  hoped  they  were  not,  for  the  people  who 
had  just  moved  out  had  never  treated  Fido  with 
that  respect  and  kindness  which  Fido  believed 
he  was  on  all  occasions  entitled  to. 

"  The  new-comers  must  be  nice  folks,"  said 
Fido  to  himself,  "  for  their  feather-beds  look 
big  and  comfortable,  and  their  baskets  are  all 
ample  and  generous,  —  and  see,  there  goes  a 
bright  gilt  cage,  and  there  is  a  plump  yellow 
canary  bird  in  it !  Oh,  how  glad  Mrs.  Tabby 
will  be  to  see  it,  —  she  so  dotes  on  dear  little 
canary  birds  !  " 


I96  DO'S  LITTLE   FRIEND. 

Mrs.  Tabby  was  the  old  brindled  cat,  who  was 
the  mother  of  the  four  cunning  little  kittens  in 
the  hay- mow.  Fido  had  heard  her  remark  very 
purringly  only  a  few  days  ago  that  she  longed 
for  a  canary  bird,  just  to  amuse  her  little  ones 
and  give  them  correct  musical  ears.  Honest 
old  Fido  !  There  was  no  guile  in  his  heart,  and 
he  never  dreamed  there  was  in  all  the  wide 
world  such  a  sin  as  hypocrisy.  So  when  Fido 
saw  the  little  canary  bird  in  the  cage  he  was 
glad  for  Mrs.  Tabby's  sake. 

While  Fido  sat  on  the  front  porch  and 
watched  the  people  moving  into  the  next  house 
another  pair  of  eyes  peeped  out  of  the  old  hol 
low  maple  over  the  way.  This  was  the  red 
headed  woodpecker,  who  had  a  warm,  cosey 
nest  far  down  in  the  old  hollow  maple,  and  in 
the  nest  there  were  four  beautiful  eggs,  of  which 
the  red-headed  woodpecker  was  very  proud. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Fido,"  called  the  red 
headed  woodpecker  from  her  high  perch.  "  You 
are  out  bright  and  early  to-day.  And  what  do 
you  think  of  our  new  neighbors?" 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  cannot  tell,"  replied  Fido, 
wagging  his  tail  cheerily,  "  for  I  am  not  ac- 


FIDO'S  LITTLE   FRIEND. 


quainted  with  them.  But  I  have  been  watching 
them  closely,  and  by  to-day  noon  I  think  I  shall 
be  on  speaking  terms  with  them,  —  provided,  of 
course,  they  are  not  the  cross,  unkind  people 
our  old  neighbors  were." 

"  Oh,  I  do  so  hope  there  are  no  little  boys  in 
the  family,"  sighed  the  red-headed  woodpecker  ; 
and  then  she  added,  with  much  determination 
and  a  defiant  toss  of  her  beautiful  head:  "I 
hate  little  boys  !  " 

"  Why  so  ?  "  inquired  Fido.  "  As  for  myself, 
I  love  little  boys.  I  have  always  found  them 
the  pleasantest  of  companions.  Why  do  you  dis 
like  them?" 

"Because  they  are  wicked,"  said  the  red 
headed  woodpecker.  "They  climb  trees  and 
break  up  the  nests  we  have  worked  so  hard  to 
build,  and  they  steal  away  our  lovely  eggs  —  oh, 
I  hate  little  boys  !  " 

"Good  little  boys  don't  steal  birds'  eggs," 
said  Fido,  "  and  I  'm  sure  I  never  would  play 
with  a  bad  boy." 

But  the  red-headed  woodpecker  insisted  that 
all  little  boys  were  wicked  ;  and,  firm  in  this  faith, 
she  flew  away  to  the  linden  over  yonder,  where; 


FIDO'S  LITTLE  FRIEND. 


she  had  heard  the  thrush  say,  there  lived  a  fam 
ily  of  fat  white  grubs.  The  red-headed  wood 
pecker  wanted  her  breakfast,  and  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  find  a  more  palatable  morsel  for 
her  than  a  white  fat  grub. 

As  for  Fido,  he  sat  on  the  front  porch  and 
watched  the  people  moving  in.  And  as  he 
watched  them  he  thought  of  what  the  red-headed 
woodpecker  had  said,  and  he  wondered  whether 
it  could  be  possible  for  little  boys  to  be  so  cruel  as 
to  rob  birds'  nests.  As  he  brooded  over  this 
sad  possibility,  his  train  of  thought  was  inter 
rupted  by  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  fell  pleas 
antly  on  his  ears. 

"  Goggie,  goggie,  goggie  !  "  said  the  voice. 
"Turn  here,  'ittle  goggie  —  turn  here,  goggie, 
goggie,  goggie  !  " 

Fido  looked  whence  the  voice  seemed  to  come, 
and  he  saw  a  tiny  figure  on  the  other  side  of  the 
fence,  —  a  cunning  baby-figure  in  the  yard  that 
belonged  to  the  house  where  the  new  neigh 
bors  were  moving  in.  A  second  glance  assured 
Fido  that  the  calling  stranger  was  a  little  boy 
not  more  than  three  years  old,  wearing  a  pretty 
dress,  and  a  broad  hat  that  crowned  his  yellow 


FIDO'S  LITTLE   FRIEND.  199 

hair  and  shaded  his  big  blue  eyes  and  dimpled 
face.  The  sight  was  a  pleasing  one,  and  Fido 
vibrated  his  tail,  —  very  cautiously,  however,  for 
Fido  was  not  quite  certain  that  the  little  boy 
meant  his  greeting  for  him,  and  Fido's  sad 
experiences  with  the  old  neighbors  had  made 
him  wary  about  scraping  acquaintances  too 
hastily. 

"Turn,  'ittle  goggie  !  "  persisted  the  prattling 
stranger,  and,  as  if  to  encourage  Fido,  the  little 
boy  stretched  his  chubby  arms  through  the  fence 
and  waved  them  entreatingly. 

Fido  was  convinced  now ;  so  he  got  up,  and 
with  many  cordial  gestures  of  his  hospitable  tail, 
trotted  down  the  steps  and  over  the  lawn  to  the 
corner  of  the  fence  where  the  little  stranger 
was. 

"  Me  love  oo,"  said  the  little  stranger,  patting 
Fido's  honest  brown  back ;  "  me  love  oo,  'ittle 
goggie." 

Fido  knew  that,  for  there  were  caresses  in 
every  stroke  of  the  dimpled  hands.  Fido  loved 
the  little  boy,  too,  —  yes,  all  at  once  he  loved 
the  little  boy ;  and  he  licked  the  dimpled  hands, 
and  gave  three  short,  quick  barks,  and  wagged 


2OO  FIDO'S  LITTLE  FRIEND. 

his  tail  hysterically.  So  then  and  there  began 
the  friendship  of  Fido  and  the  little  boy. 

Presently  Fido  crawled  under  the  fence  into 
the  next  yard,  and  then  the  little  boy  sat  down 
on  the  grass,  and  Fido  put  his  forepaws  in  the 
little  boy's  lap  and  cocked  up  his  ears  and 
looked  up  into  the  little  boy's  face,  as  much  as 
to  say,  "  We  shall  be  great  friends,  shall  we  not, 
little  boy  ?  ' ' 

"Me  love  oo,"  said  the  little  boy;  "me  wan' 
to  tiss  oo,  'ittle  goggie  !  " 

And  the  little  boy  did  kiss  Fido,  —  yes,  right 
on  Fido's  cold  nose ;  and  Fido  liked  to  have 
the  little  boy  kiss  him,  for  it  reminded  him  of 
another  little  boy  who  used  to  kiss  him,  but 
who  was  now  so  big  that  he  was  almost  ashamed 
to  play  with  Fido  any  more. 

"  Is  oo  sit,  'ittle  goggie?  "  asked  the  little  boy, 
opening  his  blue  eyes  to  their  utmost  capacity 
and  looking  very  piteous.  "  Oo  nose  be  so 
told,  oo  mus'  be  sit,  'ittle  goggie  !  " 

But  no,  Fido  was  not  sick,  even  though  his 
nose  was  cold.  Oh,  no ;  he  romped  and  played 
all  that  morning  in  the  cool,  green  grass  with 
the  little  boy ;  and  the  red-headed  woodpecker, 


FIDO'S  LITTLE   FRIEND.  2OI 

clinging/to  the  bark  on  the  hickory-tree,  laughed 
at  their  merry  antics  till  her  sides  ached  and 
her  beautiful  head  turned  fairly  livid.  Then,  at 
last,  the  little  boy's  mamma  came  out  of  the  house 
and  told  him  he  had  played  long  enough ; 
and  neither  the  red-headed  woodpecker  nor 
Fido  saw  him  again  that  day. 

But  the  next  morning  the  little  boy  toddled 
down  to  the  fence-corner,  bright  and  early,  and 
called,  "  Goggie  !  goggie  !  goggie  !  "  so  loudly, 
that  Fido  heard  him  in  the  wood-shed,  where 
he  was  holding  a  morning  chat  with  Mrs.  Tab 
by.  Fido  hastened  to  answer  the  call ;  the 
way  he  spun  out  of  the  wood-shed  and  down 
the  gravel  walk  and  around  the  corner  of  the 
house  was  a  marvel. 

"  Mamma  says  oo  dot  f'eas,  'ittle  goggie," 
said  the  little  boy.  "Has  oo  dot  f'eas?" 

Fido  looked  crestfallen,  for  could  Fido  have 
spoken  he  would  have  confessed  that  he  indeed 
was  afflicted  with  fleas,  —  not  with  very  many 
fleas,  but  just  enough  to  interrupt  his  slumbers 
and  his  meditations  at  the  most  inopportune  mo 
ments.  And  the  little  boy's  guileless  impeach 
ment  set  Fido  to  feeling  creepy- crawly  all  of  a 


202  FIDO'S  LITTLE   FRIEND. 

sudden,  and  without  any  further  ado  Fido  turned 
deftly  in  his  tracks,  twisted  his  head  back  to 
ward  his  tail,  and  by  means  of  several  well- 
directed  bites  and  plunges  gave  the  malicious 
Bedouins  thereabouts  located  timely  warning  to 
behave  themselves.  The  little  boy  thought  this 
performance  very  funny,  and  he  laughed  heartily. 
But  Fido  looked  crestfallen. 

Oh,  what  play  and  happiness  they  had  that 
day ;  how  the  green  grass  kissed  their  feet,  and 
how  the  smell  of  clover  came  with  the  spring 
time  breezes  from  the  meadow  yonder  !  The 
red-headed  woodpecker  heard  them  at  play, 
and  she  clambered  out  of  the  hollow  maple  and 
dodged  hither  and  thither  as  if  she,  too,  shared 
their  merriment.  Yes,  and  the  yellow  thistle- 
bird,  whose  nest  was  in  the  blooming  lilac-bush, 
came  and  perched  in  the  pear-tree  and  sang 
a  little  song  about  the  dear  little  eggs  in  her 
cunning  home.  And  there  was  a  flower  in  the 
fence-corner,  —  a  sweet,  modest  flower  that  no 
human  eyes  but  the  little  boy's  had  ever  seen,  — 
and  she  sang  a  little  song,  too,  a  song  about  the 
kind  old  mother  earth  and  the  pretty  sunbeams, 
the  gentle  rain  and  the  droning  bees.  Why, 


FIDO'S   LITTLE   FRIEND.  203 

the  little  boy  had  never  known  anything  half  so 
beautiful,  and  Fido, —  he,  too,  was  delighted 
beyond  all  telling.  If  the  whole  truth  must  be 
told,  Fido  had  such  an  exciting  and  bewildering 
romp  that  day  that  when  night  came,  and  he  lay 
asleep  on  the  kitchen  floor,  he  dreamed  he  was 
tumbling  in  the  green  grass  with  the  little  boy, 
and  he  tossed  and  barked  and  whined  so  in  his 
sleep  that  the  hired  man  had  to  get  up  in  the 
night  and  put  him  out  of  doors. 

Down  in  the  pasture  at  the  end  of  the  lane 
lived  an  old  woodchuck.  Last  year  the  freshet 
had  driven  him  from  his  childhood's  home  in  the 
cornfield  by  the  brook,  and  now  he  resided  in  a 
snug  hole  in  the  pasture.  During  their  rambles 
one  day,  Fido  and  his  little  boy  friend  had  come 
to  the  pasture,  and  found  the  old  woodchuck 
sitting  upright  at  the  entrance  to  his  hole. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not  going  to  hurt  you,  old  Mr. 
Woodchuck,"  said  Fido.  "  I  have  too  much 
respect  for  your  gray  hairs." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  the  woodchuck,  sarcas 
tically,  "  but  I'm  not  afraid  of  any  bench-legged 
fyste  that  ever  walked.  It  was  only  last  week 
that  I  whipped  Deacon  Skinner's  yellow  mastiff, 


2O4  FIDO'S  LITTLE   FRIEXD. 

and  I  calc'late  I  can  trounce  you,  you  ridiculous 
little  brown  cur  !  " 

The  little  boy  did  not  hear  this  badinage. 
When  he  saw  the  woodchuck  solemnly  perched 
at  the  entrance  to  his  hole  he  was  simply 
delighted. 

"  Oh,  see  !  "  cried  the  little  boy,  stretching 
out  his  fat  arms  and  running  toward  the  wood- 
chuck,  —  "  oh,  see,  —  nuzzer  'ittle  goggie  !  Turn 
here,  'ittle  goggie,  — me  love  oo  !  " 

But  the  old  woodchuck  was  a  shy  creature, 
and  not  knowing  what  guile  the  little  boy's  cor 
dial  greeting  might  mask,  the  old  woodchuck 
discreetly  disappeared  in  his  hole,  much  to  the 
little  boy's  amazement. 

Nevertheless,  the  old  woodchuck,  the  little 
boy,  and  Fido  became  fast  friends  in  time,  and 
almost  every  day  they  visited  together  in  the 
pasture.  The  old  woodchuck  —  hoary  and 
scarred  veteran  that  he  was  —  had  wonderful 
stories  to  tell,  —  stories  of  marvellous  adven 
tures,  of  narrow  escapes,  of  battles  with  cruel 
dogs,  and  of  thrilling  experiences  that  were  al 
together  new  to  his  wondering  listeners.  Mean 
while  the  red-headed  woodpecker's  eggs  in  the 


FIDO'S  LITTLE   FRIEND.  205 

hollow  maple  had  hatched,  and  the  proud  mo 
ther  had  great  tales  to  tell  of  her  baby  birds,  — 
of  how  beautiful  and  knowing  they  were,  and  of 
what  good,  noble  birds  they  were  going  to  be 
when  they  grew  up.  The  yellow-bird,  too,  had 
four  fuzzy  little  babies  in  her  nest  in  the  lilac- 
bush,  and  every  now  and  then  she  came  to  sing 
to  the  little  boy  and  Fido  of  her  darlings.  Then, 
when  the  little  boy  and  Fido  were  tired  with 
play,  they  would  sit  in  the  rowen  near  the  fence- 
corner  and  hear  the  flower  tell  a  story  the  dew 
had  brought  fresh  from  the  stars  the  night  be 
fore.  They  all  loved  each  other,  —  the  little 
boy,  Fido,  the  old  woodchuck,  the  red-headed 
woodpecker,  the  yellow-bird,  and  the  flower, 
—  yes,  all  through  the  days  -of  spring  and  all 
through  the  summer  time  they  loved  each  other 
in  their  own  honest,  sweet,  simple  way. 

But  one  morning  Fido  sat  on  the  front  porch 
and  wondered  why  the  little  boy  had  not  come 
to  the  fence- corner  and  called  to  him.  The  sun 
was  high,  the  men  had  been  long  gone  to  the 
harvest  fields,  and  the  heat  of  the  early  autumn 
day  had  driven  the  birds  to  the  thickest  foliage 
of  the  trees.  Fido  could  not  understand  why 


2O6  FIDO'S  LITTLE  FRIEND. 

the  little  boy  did  not  come ;  he  felt,  oh  !  so 
lonesome,  and  he  yearned  for  the  sound  of  a 
little  voice  calling  "  Goggie,  goggie,  goggie." 

The  fed-headed  woodpecker  could  not  ex 
plain  it,  nor  could  the  yellow-bird.  Fido  trotted 
leisurely  down  to  the  fence-corner  and  asked 
the  flower  if  she  had  seen  the  little  boy  that 
morning.  But  no,  the  flower  had  not  laid  eyes 
on  the  little  boy,  and  she  could  only  shake  her 
head  doubtfully  when  Fido  asked  her  what  it 
all  meant.  At  last  in  desperation  Fido  braced 
himself  for  an  heroic  solution  of  the  mystery, 
and  as  loudly  as  ever  he  could,  he  barked  three 
times,  —  in  the  hope,  you  know,  that  the  little 
boy  would  hear  his  call  and  come.  But  the  little 
boy  did  not  come. 

Then  Fido  trotted  sadly  down  the  lane  to  the 
pasture  to  talk  with  the  old  woodchuck  about 
this  strange  thing.  The  old  woodchuck  saw 
him  coming  and  ambled  out  to  meet  him. 

"  But  where  is  our  little  boy?  "  asked  the  old 
woodchuck. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Fido.  "  I  waited  for 
him  and  called  to  him  again  and  again,  but  he 
never  came." 


FIDO'S  LITTLE  FRIEND.  207 


Ah,  those  were  sorry  days  for  the  little  boy's 
friends,  and  sorriest  for  Fido.  Poor,  honest 
Fido,  how  lonesome  he  was  and  how  he  moped 
about !  How  each  sudden  sound,  how  each 
footfall,  startled  him  !  How  he  sat  all  those 
days  upon  the  front  door-stoop,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  fence-corner  'and  his  rough  brown 
ears  cocked  up  as  if  he  expected  each  moment 
to  see  two  chubby  arms  stretched  out  toward 
him  and  to  hear  a  baby  voice  calling  "  Goggie, 
goggie,  goggie." 

Once  only  they  saw  him,  —  Fido,  the  flower, 
and  the  others.  It  was  one  day  when  Fido 
had  called  louder  than  usual.  They  saw  a  little 
figure  in  a  night-dress  come  to  an  upper  window 
and  lean  his  arms  out.  They  saw  it  was  the  lit 
tle  boy,  and,  oh  !  how  pale  and  ill  he  looked.  But 
his  yellow  hair  was  as  glorious  as  ever,  and  the 
dimples  came  back  with  the  smile  that  lighted 
his  thin  little  face  when  he  saw  Fido ;  and 
he  leaned  on  the  window  casement  and  waved 
his  baby  hands  feebly,  and  cried  :  "  Goggie  ! 
goggie  !  "  till  Fido  saw  the  little  boy's  mother 
come  and  take  him  from  the  window. 

One  morning  Fido  came  to  the  fence-corner 


208 


FIDO'S    LITTLE   FRIEND. 


-  how  very  lonely  that  spot  seemed  now  —  and 
he  talked  with  the  flower  and  the  woodpecker ; 
and  the  yellow- bird  came,  too,  and  they  all 
talked  of  the  little  boy.  And  at  that  very  mo 
ment  the  old  woodchuck  reared  his  hoary  head 
by  the  hole  in  the  pasture,  and  he  looked  this 
way  and  that  and  wondered  why  the  little  boy 
never  came  any  more. 

"  Suppose,"  said  Fido  to  the  yellow-bird,  — 
"  suppose  you  fly  to  the  window  way  up  there 
and  see  what  the  little  boy  is  doing.  Sing  him 
one  of  your  pretty  songs,  and  tell  him  we  are 
lonesome  without  him  ;  that  we  are  waiting  for 
him  in  the  old  fence-corner." 

Then  the  yellow-bird  did  as  Fido  asked,  — 
she  flew  to  the  window  where   they  had   once 
seen  the  little  boy,  and   alighting  upon  the  sill, 
she  peered   into    the    room.     In    another    mo 
ment  she  was  back  on  the  bush  at  Fido's  side. 
"  He  is  asleep,"  said  the  yellow-bird. 
"Asleep  !  "  cried  Fido. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  yellow-bird,  "  he  is  fast  asleep. 
I  think  he  must  be  dreaming  a  beautiful  dream, 
for  I  could  see  a  smile  on  his  face,  and  his  little 
hands  were  folded  on  his  bosom.  There  were 


FIDO'S   LITTLE   FRIEND.  209 

flowers  all  about  him,  and  but  for  their  sweet 
voices  the  chamber  would  have  been  very  still." 

"  Come,  let  us  wake  him,"  said  Fido ;  "let 
us  all  call  to  him  at  once.  Then  perhaps  he 
will  hear  us  and  awaken  and  answer;  perhaps 
he  will  come." 

So  they  all  called  in  chorus,  —  Fido  and  the 
other  honest  friends.  They  called  so  loudly  that 
the  still  air  of  that  autumn  morning  was  strangely 
startled,  and  the  old  woodchuck  in  the  pasture 
way  off  yonder  heard  the  echoes  and  wondered. 

"  Little  boy  !  little  boy  !  "  they  called,  "  why  are 
you  sleeping?  Why  are  you  sleeping,  little  boy?  " 

Call  on,  dear  voices  !  but  the  little  boy  will 
never  hear.  The  dimpled  hands  that  caressed 
you  are  indeed  folded  upon  his  breast ;  the  lips 
that  kissed  your  honest  faces  are  sealed ;  the 
baby  voice  that  sang  your  playtime  songs  with 
you  is  hushed,  and  all  about  him  is  the  fragrance 
and  the  beauty  of  flowers.  Call  on,  O  honest 
friends  !  but  he  shall  never  hear  your  calling ; 
for,  as  if  he  were  aweary  of  the  love  and  play 
and  sunshine  that  were  all  he  knew  of  earth,  our 
darling  is  asleep  forever. 

1885. 


THE    OLD    MAN. 


T  CALLED  him  the  Old  Man,  but  he  wuz  n't 
an  old  man  ;  he  wuz  a  little  boy  —  our  fust 
one  ;  'nd  his  gran'ma,  who  'd  had  a  heap  of  ex 
perience  in  sich  matters,  allowed  that  he  wuz  for 
looks  as  likely  a  child  as  she  'd  ever  clapped  eyes 
on.  Bein'  our  fust,  we  sot  our  hearts  on  him, 
and  Lizzie  named  him  Willie,  for  that  wuz  the 
name  she  liked  best,  havin'  had  a  brother 
Willyum  killed  in  the  war.  But  I  never  called 
him  anything  but  the  Old  Man,  and  that  name 
seemed  to  fit  him,  for  he  wuz  one  of  your  sollum 
babies,  —  alwuz  thinkin'  'nd  thinkin'  'nd  thinkin', 
like  he  wuz  a  jedge,  and  when  he  laffed  it 
wuz  n't  like  other  children's  laffs,  it  wuz  so 
sad-like. 

Lizzie  'nd  I  made  it  up  between  us  that  when 
the  Old  Man  growed  up  we  'd  send  him  to  col- 


214  THE   OLD    MAN. 

lige  'nd  give  him  a  lib'ril  edication,  no  matter 
though  we  had  to  sell  the  farm  to  do  it.  But  we 
never  cud  exactly  agree  as  to  what  we  was  goin' 
to  make  of  him ;  Lizzie  havin'  her  heart  sot  on 
his  bein'  a  preacher  like  his  gran' pa  Baker,  and 
I  wantin'  him  to  be  a  lawyer  'nd  git  rich  out'n 
the  corporations,  like  his  uncle  Wilson  Barlow. 
So  we  never  come  to  no  definite  conclusion  as 
to  what  the  Old  Man  wuz  goin'  to  be  bime  by ; 
but  while  we  wuz  thinkin'  'nd  debatin'  the  Old 
Man  kep'  growin'  'nd  growin',  and  all  the  time 
he  wuz  as  serious  'nd  sollum  as  a  jedge. 

Lizzie  got  jest  wrapt  up  in  that  boy;  toted 
him  round  ever'where  'nd  never  let  on  like  it 
made  her  tired,  —  powerful  big  'nd  hearty  child 
too,  but  heft  warn't  nothin'  'longside  of  Lizzie's 
love  for  the  Old  Man.  When  he  caught  the 
measles  from  Sairy  Baxter's  baby  Lizzie  sot  up 
day  'nd  night  till  he  wuz  well,  holdin'  his  hands 
'nd  singin'  songs  to  him,  'nd  cryin'  herse'f  almost 
to  death  because  she  dassent  give  him  cold 
water  to  drink  when  he  called  f  r  it.  As  for  me, 
my  heart  wuz  wrapt  up  in  the  Old  Man,  too,  but, 
bein'  a  man,  it  wuz  n't  for  me  to  show  it  like 
Lizzie,  bein'  a  woman ;  and  now  that  the  Old 


THE   OLD  MAN.  215 


Man  is  —  wall,  now  that  he  has  gone,  it 
would  n't  do  to  let  on  how  much  I  sot  by 
him,  for  that  would  make  Lizzie  feel  all  the 
wuss. 

Sometimes,  when  I  think  of  it,  it  makes  me 
sorry  that  I  did  n't  show  the  Old  Man  some 
way  how  much  I  wuz  wrapt  up  in  him.  Used 
to  hold  him  in  my  lap  'nd  make  faces  for  him 
'nd  alder  whistles  'nd  things ;  sometimes  I  'd 
kiss  him  on  his  rosy  cheek,  when  nobody  wuz 
lookin' ;  oncet  I  tried  to  sing  him  a  song,  but  it 
made  him  cry,  'nd  I  never  tried  my  hand  at 
singin'  again.  But,  somehow,  the  Old  Man 
did  n't  take  to  me  like  he  took  to  his  mother : 
would  climb  down  outern  my  lap  to  git  where 
Lizzie  wuz ;  would  hang  on  to  her  gownd,  no 
matter  what  she  wuz  doin',  —  whether  she  was 
makin'  bread,  or  sewin',  or  puttin'  up  pickles,  it 
wuz  alwuz  the  same  to  the  Old  Man ;  he  wuz  n't 
happy  unless  he  wuz  right  there,  clost  beside  his 
mother. 

Most  all  boys,  as  I  Ve  heern  tell,  is  proud  to 
be  round  with  their  father,  doin'  what  he  does 
'nd  wearin'  the  kind  of  clothes  he  wears.  But 
the  Old  Man  wuz  diff  rent ;  he  allowed  that  his 


2l6  THE   OLD   MAN 


mother  wuz  his  best  friend,  'nd  the  way  he 
stuck  to.  her  —  wall,  it  has  alvvuz  been  a  great 
comfort  to  Lizzie  to  recollect  it. 

The  Old  Man  had  a  kind  of  confidin'  way 
with  his  mother.  Every  oncet  in  a  while, 
when  he'd  be  playin'  by  hisself  in  the  front 
room,  he  'd  call  out,  "  Mudder,  mudder ;  "  and 
no  matter  where  Lizzie  wuz,  —  in  the  kitchen, 
or  in  the  wood-shed,  or  in  the  yard,  she  'd 
answer  :  "  What  is  it,  darlin'  ?  "  Then  the  Old 
Man  'ud  say  :  "  Turn  here,  mudder,  I  wanter  tell 
you  sumfm'."  Never  could  find  out  what  the 
Old  Man  wanted  to  tell  Lizzie ;  like  's  not  he 
did  n't  wanter  tell  her  nothin'  \  may  be  he  wuz 
lonesome  'nd  jest  wanted  to  feel  that  Lizzie  wuz 
round.  But  that  did  n't  make  no  diff'rence ; 
it  wuz  all  the  same  to  Lizzie.  No  matter  where 
she  wuz  or  what  she  wuz  a-doin',  jest  as  soon 
as  the  Old  Man  told  her  he  wanted  to  tell  her 
somethin'  she  dropped  ever'thing  else  'nd  went 
straight  to  him.  Then  the  Old  Man  would  laff 
one  of  his  sollum,  sad-like  laffs,  'nd  put  his  arms 
round  Lizzie's  neck  'nd  whisper  —  or  pertend 
to  whisper  —  somethin'  in  her  ear,  'nd  Lizzie 
would  laff  'nd  say,  "  Oh,  what  a  nice  secret 


THE   OLD   MAN.  2  17 


we  have  atween  us  !  "  and  then  she  would  kiss 
the  Old  Man  'nd  go  back  to  her  work. 

Time  changes  all  things,  —  all  things  but 
memory,  nothin'  can  change  that.  Seems  like 
it  wuz  only  yesterday  or  the  day  before  that  I 
heern  the  Old  Man  callin',  "  Mudder,  mudder, 
I  wanter  tell  you  sumfin',"  and  that  I  seen  him 
put  his  arms  around  her  neck  'nd  whisper  softly 
to  her. 

It  had  been  an  open  winter,  'nd  there  wuz 
fever  all  around  us.  The  Baxters  lost  their  little 
girl,  and  Homer  Thompson's  children  had  all 
been  taken  down.  Ev'ry  night  'nd  mornin'  we 
prayed  God  to  save  our  darlin' ;  but  one  evenin' 
when  I  come  up  from  the  wood  lot,  the  Old 
Man  wuz  restless  'nd  his  face  wuz  hot  'nd  he 
talked  in  his  sleep.  May  be  you  Ve  been 
through  it  yourself,  —  may  be  you  Ve  tended  a 
child  that 's  down  with  the  fever ;  if  so,  may  be 
you  know  what  we  went  through,  Lizzie  'nd  me. 
The  doctor  shook  his  head  one  night  when  he 
come  to  see  the  Old  Man ;  we  knew  what  that 
meant.  I  went  out-doors,  —  I  could  n't  stand  it 
in  the  room  there,  with  the  Old  Man  seein'  'nd 
talkin'  about  things  that  the  fever  made  him  see. 


2l8 


THE   OLD  MAN. 


I  wuz  too  big  a  coward  to  stay  'nd  help  his 
mother  to  bear  up;  so  I  went  out-doors  'nd 
brung  in  wood,  —  brung  in  wood  enough  to  last 
all  spring,  —  and  then  I  sat  down  alone  by  the 
kitchen  fire  'nd  heard  the  clock  tick  'nd  watched 
the  shadders  flicker  through  the  room. 

I  remember  Lizzie's  comin'  to  me  and  sayin' : 
"  He  's  breathin'  strange-like,  'nd  his  little  feet  is 
cold  as  ice."  Then  I  went  into  the  front  cham 
ber  where  he  lay.  The  day  wuz  breakin' ;  the 
cattle  wuz  lowin'  outside ;  a  beam  of  light  come 
through  the  winder  and  fell  on  the  Old  Man's 
face,  —  perhaps  it  wuz  the  summons  for  which 
he  waited  and  which  shall  some  time  come  to 
me  'nd  you.  Leastwise  the  Old  Man  roused 
from  his  sleep  'nd  opened  up  his  big  blue  eyes. 
It  wuz  n't  me  he  wanted  to  see. 

"  Mudder  !  mudder  !  "  cried  the  Old  Man, 
but  his  voice  warn't  strong  'nd  clear  like  it  used 
to  be.  "  Mudder,  where  be  you,  mudder?  " 

Then,  breshin'  by  me,  Lizzie  caught  the  Old 
Man  up  'nd  held  him  in  her  arms,  like  she  had 
done  a  thousand  times  before. 

"What  is  it,  darlin'?  Here  I  be,"  says 
Lizzie. 


THE   OLD  MAN.  2I9 


"Turn  here,"  says  the  Old  Man,  — "turn 
her ;  I  wanter  tell  you  sumfin'." 

The  Old  Man  went  to  reach  his  arms  around 
her  neck  'nd  whisper  in  her  ear.  But  his  arms 
fell  limp  and  helpless-like,  'nd  the  Old  Man's 
curly  head  drooped  on  his  mother's  breast. 

1889. 


llBill,  t\)t  ilofeil  (Baiter, 


BILL,   THE   LOKIL   EDITOR. 


"DILL  wuz  alluz  fond  uv  children  'nd  birds 
"^  'nd  flowers.  Aint  it  kind  o'  curious  how 
sometimes  we  find  a  great,  big,  awkward  man 
who  loves  sech  things  ?  Bill  had  the  biggest  feet 
in  the  township,  but  I  '11  bet  my  wallet  that  he 
never  trod  on  a  violet  in  all  his  life.  Bill  never 
took  no  slack  from  enny  man  that  wuz  sober, 
but  the  children  made  him  play  with  'em,  and 
he  'd  set  for  hours  a-watchin'  the  yaller- hammer 
buildin'  her  nest  in  the  old  cottonwood. 

Now  I  aint  defendin'  Bill ;  I  'm  jest  tellin' 
the  truth  about  him.  Nothink  I  kin  say  one 
way  or  t'other  is  goin'  to  make  enny  difference 
now ;  Bill 's  dead  'nd  buried,  'nd  the  folks  is 
discussin'  him  'nd  wond'rin'  whether  his  immor 
tal  soul  is  all  right.  Sometimes  I  hev  worried 
'bout  Bill,  but  I  don't  worry  'bout  him  no  more. 


224  BILL,    THE   LOKIL   EDITOR. 

Uv  course  Bill  had  his  faults,  —  I  never  liked 
that  drinkin'  business  uv  his'n,  yet  I  allow  that 
Bill  got  more  good  out'n  likker,  and  likker  got 
more  good  out'n  Bill,  than  I  ever  see  before  or 
sence.     It  warn't   when  the  likker  wuz  in  Bill 
that  Bill  wuz  at  his  best,  but  when  he  bed  been 
on  to  one  uv  his  bats  'nd  had  drunk  himself  sick 
'nd  wuz  comin'  out  uv  the  other  end  of  the  bat, 
then  Bill  wuz  one  uv  the  meekest  'nd  properest 
critters  you  ever  seen.    An'  potry  ?    Some  uv  the 
most  beautiful  potry  I  ever  read  wuz  writ  by  Bill 
when  he   wuz  recoverin'  himself  out'n  one    uv 
them  bats.     Seemed  like  it  kind  uv  exalted  an' 
purified  Bill's  nachur  to  git  drunk  an'  git   over 
it.     Bill  cud  drink   more  likker  'nd  be  sorrier 
for   it   than    any    other    man    in    seven    States. 
There  never  wuz   a   more  penitent  feller  than 
he  wuz  when   he    wuz    soberin'.    The    trubble 
with  Bill  seemed  to  be  that  his  conscience  did  n't 
come  on  watch  quite  of  'n  enuff. 

It  '11  be  ten  years  come  nex'  spring  sence  Bill 
showed  up  here.  I  don't  know  whar  he  come 
from  ;  seemed  like  he  did  n't  want  to  talk  about 
his  past.  I  allers  suspicioned  that  he  had  seen 
trubble  —  maybe,  sorrer.  I  reecollect  that  one 


BILL,    THE  LOKIL   EDITOR  225 

time  he  got  a  telegraph,  —  Mr.  Ivins  told  me 
'bout  it  afterwards,  —  and  when  he  read  it  he 
put  his  hands  up  to  his  face  'nd  groaned,  like. 
That  day  he  got  full  uv  likker  'nd  he  kep'  full  of 
likker  for  a  week ;  but  when  he  come  round  all 
right  he  wrote  a  pome  for  the  paper,  'nd  the 
name  of  the  pome  wuz  "  Mary,"  but  whether 
Mary  wuz  his  sister  or  his  wife  or  an  old  sweet 
heart  uv  his'n  I  never  knew.  But  it  looked 
from  the  pome  like  she  wuz  dead  'nd  that  he 
loved  her. 

Bill  wuz  the  best  lokil  the  paper  ever  had. 
He  did  n't  hustle  around  much,  but  he  had  a 
kind  er  pleasin'  way  uv  dishin'  things  up.  He 
cud  be  mighty  comical  when  he  sot  out  to  be, 
but  his  best  holt  was  serious  pieces.  Nobody 
could  beat  Bill  writin'  obituaries.  When  old 
Mose  Holbrook  wuz  dyin'  the  minister  sez  to 
him  :  "  Mr.  Holbrook,  you  seem  to  be  sorry 
that  you're  passin'  away  to  a  better  land?" 

"  Wall,  no  ;  not  exactly  that"  sez  Mose,  "  but 
to  be  frank  with  you,  I  hev  jest  one  regret  in 
connection  with  this  affair." 

"  What's  that?"  asked  the  minister. 

"  I  can't  help  feelin'  sorry,"  sez  Mose,  "  that 
15 


226  BILL,    THE  LOKIL   EDITOR. 

I  aint  goin'  to  hev  the  pleasure  uv  readin'  what 
Bill  Newton  sez  about  me  in  the  paper.  I  know 
it  '11  be  sumthin'  uncommon  fine ;  I  loant  him 
two  dollars  a  year  ago  last  fall." 

The  Higginses  lost  a  darned  good  friend 
when  Bill  died.  Bill  wrote  a  pome  'bout  their 
old  dog  Towze  when  he  wuz  run  over  by  Wat- 
kins's  hay  wagon  seven  years  ago.  I  '11  bet  that 
pome  is  in  every  scrap-book  in  the  county. 
You  could  n't  read  that  pome  without  cryin',  — 
why,  that  pome  wud  hev  brought  a  dew  out  on 
the  desert  uv  Sary.  Old  Tim  Hubbard,  the 
meanest  man  in  the  State,  borrered  a  paper  to 
read  the  pome,  and  he  wuz  so  'fected  by  it  that 
he  never  borrered  anuther  paper  as  long  as  he 
lived.  I  don't  more'n  half  reckon,  though,  that 
the  Higginses  appreciated  what  Bill  had  done 
for  'em.  I  never  heerd  uv  their  givin'  him  any- 
think  more  'n  a  basket  uv  greenin'  apples,  and 
Bill  wrote  a  piece  'bout  the  apples  nex'  day. 

But  Bill  wuz  at  his  best  when  he  wrote  things 
about  the  children,  —  about  the  little  ones  that 
died,  I  mean.  Seemed  like  Bill  had  a  way  of 
his  own  of  sayin'  things  that  wuz  beautiful  'nd 
tender;  he  said  he  loved  the  children  because 


BILL,   THE  LOKIL   EDITOR.  227 

they  vvuz  innocent,  and  I  reckon  —  yes,  I  know 
he  did,  for  the  pomes  he  writ  about  'em  showed 
he  did. 

When  our  little  Alice  died  I  started  out  for 
Mr.  Miller's ;  he  wuz  the  undertaker.  The 
night  wuz  powerful  dark,  'nd  it  wuz  all  the 
darker  to  me,  because  seemed  like  all  the  light 
hed  gone  out  in  my  life.  Down  near  the  bridge 
I  met  Bill ;  he  weaved  round  in  the  road,  for  he 
wuz  in  likker. 

"Hello,  Mr.  Baker,"  sez  he,  "whar  be  you 
goin'  this  time  o'  night?" 

"Bill,"  sez  I,  "I'm  goin'  on  the  saddest 
errand  uv  my  life." 

"  What  d  'ye  mean?  "  sez  he,  comin'  up  to  me 
as  straight  as  he  cud. 

"  Why,  Bill,"  sez  I,  "  our  little  girl  —  my  lit 
tle  girl  —  Allie,  you  know  —  she  's  dead." 

I  hoarsed  up  so  I  could  n't  say  much  more. 
And  Bill  didn't  say  nothink  at  all;  he  jest 
reached  me  his  hand,  and  he  took  my  hand  and 
seemed  like  in  that  grasp  his  heart  spoke  many 
words  of  comfort  to  mine.  And  nex'  day  he 
had  a  piece  in  the  paper  about  our  little  girl  ; 
we  cut  it  out  and  put  it  in  the  big  Bible  in  the 


228  BILL,    THE  LOKIL   EDITOR. 

front  room.  Sometimes  when  we  get  to  fussin', 
Martha  goes  'nd  gets  that  bit  of  paper  'nd  reads 
it  to  me  •  then  us  two  kind  uv  cry  to  ourselves, 
'nd  we  make  it  up  between  us  for  the  dead 
child's  sake. 

Well,  you  kin  see  how  it  wuz  that  so  many 
uv  us  liked  Bill ;  he  had  soothed  our  hearts,  — 
there 's  nothin'  like  sympathy  after  all.  Bill's 
potry  hed  heart  in  it ;  it  did  n't  surprise  you  or 
scare  you ;  it  jest  got  down  in  under  your  vest, 
'nd  before  you  knew  it  you  wuz  all  choked  up. 
I  know  all  about  your  fashionable  potry  and 
your  famous  potes,  —  Martha  took  Godey's  for  a 
year.  Folks  that  live  in  the  city  can't  write 
potry,  —  not  the  real,  genuine  article.  To  write 
potry,  as  I  figure  it,  the  heart  must  have  some- 
thin'  to  feed  on ;  you  can't  get  that  somethin' 
whar  there  aint  trees  'nd  grass  'nd  birds  'nd 
flowers.  Bill  loved  these  things,  and  he  fed  his 
heart  on  'em,  and  that 's  why  his  potry  wuz  so 
much  better  than  anybody  else's. 

I  aint  worryin'  much  about  Bill  now ;  I  take 
it  that  everythink  is  for  the  best.  When  they 
told  me  that  Bill  died  in  a  drunken  fit  I  felt 
that  his  end  oughter  have  come  some  other 


BILL,    THE   LOKIL   EDITOR  2  29 

waVj —  he  wuz  too  good  a  man  for  that.  But 
maybe,  after  all,  it  was  ordered  for  the  best. 
Jist  imagine  Bill  a-standin'  up  for  •  jedgment ; 
jist  imagine  that  poor,  sorrowful,  shiverin'  critter 
waitin'  for  his  turn  to  come.  Pictur',  if  you 
can,  how  full  uv  penitence  he  is,  'nd  how  full 
uv  potry  'nd  gentleness  'nd  misery.  The  Lord 
aint  a-goin'  to  be  too  hard  on  that  poor  wretch. 
Of  course  we  can't  comprehend  Divine  mercy ; 
we  only  know  that  it  is  full  of  compassion,  —  a 
compassion  infinitely  tenderer  and  sweeter  than 
ours.  And  the  more  I  think  on  't,  the  more  I 
reckon  that  Bill  will  plead  to  win  that  mercy, 
for,  like  as  not,  the  little  ones  — my  Allie 
with  the  rest  —  will  run  to  him  when  they  see 
him  in  his  trubble  and  will  hold  his  tremblin' 
hands  'nd  twine  their  arms  about  him,  and 
plead,  with  him,  for  compassion. 

You  've  seen  an  old  sycamore  that  the  light- 
nin'  has  struck;  the  ivy  has  reached  up  its 
vines  'nd  spread  'em  all  around  it  'nd  over  it, 
coverin'  its  scars  'nd  splintered  branches  with  a 
velvet  green  'nd  fillin'  the  air  with  fragrance. 
You  've  seen  this  thing  and  you  know  that  it  is 
beautiful. 


230  BILL,    THE  LOKIL    EDITOR. 

That 's  Bill,  perhaps,  as  he  stands  up  f  r  jedg- 
ment,  —  a  miserable,  tremblin',  'nd  unworthy 
thing,  perhaps,  but  twined  about,  all  over,  with 
singin'  and  pleadin'  little  children  —  and  that 
is  pleasin'  in  God's  sight,  I  know. 

What  would  you  —  what  would  / —  say,  if  we 
wuz  setin'  in  jedgment  then? 

Why,  we  'd  jest  kind  uv  bresh  the  moisture 
from  our  eyes  'nd  say :  "  Mister  recordin'  an 
gel,  you  may  nolly  pros  this  case  'nd  perseed 
with  the  docket." 

1888. 


Jlittle  ^atlrr  115ab?« 


THE  LITTLE  YALLER  BABY. 


T  HEV  allus  hed  a  good  opinion  uv  the  wim- 
min  folks.  I  don't  look  at  'em  as  some 
people  do;  uv  course  they're  a  necessity — just 
as  men  are.  Uv  course  if  there  warn't  no  wim- 
min  folks  there  would  n't  be  no  men  folks  — 
leastwise  that 's  what  the  medikil  books  say.  But 
I  never  wuz  much  on  discussin'  humin  economy ; 
what  I  hev  allus  thought  'nd  said  wuz  that  wim- 
min  folks  wuz  a  kind  uv  luxury,  'nd  the  best 
kind,  too.  Maybe  it 's  because  I  haint  hed 
much  to  do  with  'em  that  I  'm  sot  on  'em. 
Never  did  get  real  well  acquainted  with  more  'n 
three  or  four  uv  'em  in  all  my  life ;  seemed  like 
it  wuz  meant  that  I  should  n't  hev  'em  round  me 
as  most  men  hev.  Mother  died  when  I  wuz  a 
little  tyke,  an'  Ant  Mary  raised  me  till  I  wuz 
big  enuff  to  make  my  own  livin'.  Down  here 


234  TI/E  LITTLE    YALLER   BABY. 

in  the  Southwest,  you  see,  most  uv  the  girls  is 
boys ;  there  aint  none  uv  them  civilizin'  influ 
ences  folks  talk  uv,  —  nothin'  but  flowers  'nd 
birds  'nd  such  things  as  poetry  tells  about.  So 
I  kind  uv  growed  up  with  the  curis  notion  that 
wimmin  folks  wuz  too  good  for  our  part  uv  the 
country,  'nd  I  hev  n't  quite  got  that  notion  out'n 
my  head  yet. 

One  time  —  wall,  I  reckon  't  wuz  about  four 
years  ago  —  I  got  a  letter  frum  ol'  Col.  Sibley  to 
come  up  to  Saint  Louey  'nd  consult  with  him  'bout 
some  stock  int'rests  we  hed  together.  Railroad 
travellin'  wuz  no  new  thing  to  me.  I  hed  been 
prutty  posperous,  —  hed  got  past  hevin'  to  ride 
in  a  caboose  'nd  git  out  at  every  stop  to  punch 
up  the  steers.  Hed  money  in  the  Hoost'n  bank 
'nd  use  to  go  to  Tchicargo  oncet  a  year ;  hed  met 
Fill  Armer  'nd  shook  hands  with  him,  'nd  oncet 
the  city  papers  hed  a  colume  article  about  my 
bein'  a  millionnaire  ;  uv  course  't  warn't  so,  but  a 
feller  kind  uv  likes  that  sort  uv  thing,  you  know. 

The  mornin'  after  I  got  that  letter  from  Col. 
Sibley  I  started  for  Saint  Louey.  I  took  a  bunk 
in  the  Pullman  car,  like  I  hed  been  doin'  for  six 
years  past;  'nd  I  reckon  the  other  folks  must 


THE   LITTLE    YALLER   BABY.  235 

hev  thought  I  wuz  a  heap  uv  a  man,  for  every 
haff-hour  I  give  the  nigger  haf  a  dollar  to  bresh 
me  off.  The  car  wuz  full  uv  people,  —  rich  peo 
ple,  too,  I  reckon,  for  they  wore  good  clo'es 
'nd  criticised  the  scenery.  Jest  across  frum  me 
there  wuz  a  lady  with  a  big,  fat  baby,  —  the 
pruttiest  woman  I  hed  seen  in  a  month  uv  Sun 
days  ;  and  the  baby  !  why,  doggone  my  skin, 
when  I  wuz  n't  payin'  money  to  the  nigger, 
darned  if  I  did  n't  set  there  watchin'  the  big,  fat 
little  cuss,  like  he  wuz  the  only  baby  I  ever  seen. 
I  aint  much  of  a  hand  at  babies,  'cause  I  haint 
seen  many  uv  'em,  'nd  when  it  comes  to  hand- 
lin'  'em  —  why,  that  would  break  me  all  up, 
'nd  like  's  not  't  would  break  the  baby  all  up  too. 
But  it  has  allus  been  my  notion  that  nex'  to  the 
wimmin  folks  babies  wuz  jest  about  the  nicest 
things  on  earth.  So  the  more  I  looked  at  that 
big,  fat  little  baby  settin'  in  its  mother's  lap  'cross 
the  way,  the  more  I  wanted  to  look  ;  seemed  like 
I  wuz  hoodooed  by  the  little  tyke ;  'nd  the  first 
thing  I  knew  there  wuz  water  in  my  eyes; 
don't  know  why  it  is,  but  it  allus  makes  me  kind 
ur  slop  over  to  set  'nd  watch  a  baby  cooin'  'nd 
playin'  in  its  mother's  lap. 


236  THE  LITTLE    YALLER   BABY. 

"  Look  a'  hyar,  Sam,"  says  I  to  the  nigger, 
"  come  hyar  'nd  bresh  me  off  agin !  Why 
aint  you  tendin1  to  bizniss?" 

But  it  did  n't  do  no  good  't  all ;  pertendin'  to 
be  cross  with  the  nigger  might  fool  the  other 
folks  in  the  car,  but  it  did  n't  fool  me.  I  wuz 
dead  stuck  on  that  baby  —  gol  durn  his  pic- 
tur'  !  And  there  the  little  tyke  set  in  its  mo 
ther's  lap,  doublin'  up  its  fists  'nd  tryin'  to 
swaller  'em,  'nd  talkin'  like  to  its  mother  in  a 
lingo  I  couldn't  understan',  but  which  the  mo 
ther  could,  for  she  talked  back  to  the  baby  in  a 
soothin'  lingo  which  I  could  n't  understand  but 
which  I  liked  to  hear,  'nd  she  kissed  the  baby 
'nd  stroked  its  hair  'nd  petted  it  like  wimmin  do. 

It  made  me  mad  to  hear  them  other  folks  in 
the  car  criticism'  the  scenery  'nd  things.  A 
man  's  in  mighty  poor  bizness,  anyhow,  to  be 
lookin'  at  scenery  when  there 's  a  woman  in 
sight,  —  a  woman  and  a  baby  ! 

Prutty  soon  —  oh,  maybe  in  a  hour  or  two  — 
the  baby  began  to  fret  'nd  worrit.  Seemed  to 
me  like  the  little  critter  wuz  hungry.  Knowin' 
that  there  wuz  n't  no  eatin'-house  this  side  uv 
Bowieville,  I  jest  called  the  train  boy,  'nd  says  I 


THE   LITTLE    YALLER  BABY.  237 

to  him  :  "  Hev  you  got  any  victuals  that  will 
do  for  a  baby?  " 

"  How  is  oranges  'nd  bananas?  "  says  he. 

"  That  ought  to  do,"  sez  I.  "  Jist  do  up  a 
dozen  uv  your  best  oranges  'nd  a  dozen  uv  your 
best  bananas  'nd  take  'em  over  to  that  baby 
with  my  complerments." 

But  before  he  could  do  it,  the  lady  hed  laid 
the  baby  on  one  uv  her  arms  'nd  hed  spread  a 
shawl  over  its  head  'nd  over  her  shoulder,  'nd 
all  uv  a  suddin'  the  baby  quit  worritin'  and 
seemed  like  he  hed  gone  to  sleep. 

When  we  got  to  York  Crossin'  I  looked  out'n 
the  winder  'nd  seen  some  men  carryin'  a  long 
pine  box  up  towards  the  baggage  car.  Seein' 
their  hats  off,  I  knew  there  wuz  a  dead  body  in 
the  box,  'nd  I  could  n't  help  feelin'  sorry  for  the 
poor  creetur  that  hed  died  in  that  lonely  place 
uv  York  Crossin' ;  but  I  mought  hev  felt  a  heap 
sorrier  for  the  creeters  that  hed  to  live  there, 
for  I  '11  allow  that  York  Crossin'  is  a  leetle  the 
durnedest  lonesomest  place  I  ever  seen. 

Well,  just  afore  the  train  started  agin,  who 
should  come  into  the  car  but  Bill  Woodson,  and 
he  wuz  lookin'  powerful  tough.  Bill  herded 


238  THE   LITTLE    YALLER    BABY. 

cattle  for  me  three  winters,  but  hed  moved  away 
when  he  married  one  uv  the  waiter  girls  at 
Spooner's  hotel  at  Hoost'n. 

"Hello,  Bill,"  says  I;  "what  air  you  totin' 
so  kind  uv  keerful-like  in  your  arms  there?  " 

"  Why,  I  Ve  got  the  baby,"  says  he  ;  'nd  as  he 
said  it  the  tears  come  up  into  his  eyes. 

"  Your  own  baby,  Bill  ?  "  says  I. 

"Yes,"  says  he.  "Nellie  took  sick  uv  the 
janders  a  fortnight  ago,  'nd  —  'nd  she  died,  'nd 
I  'm  takin'  her  body  up  to  Texarkany  to  bury. 
She  lived  there,  you  know,  'nd  I  'm  goin'  to 
leave  the  baby  there  with  its  gran' ma." 

Poor  Bill !  it  wuz  his  wife  that  the  men  were 
carryin'  in  that  pine  box  to  the  baggage  car. 

"  Likely  lookin'  baby,  Bill,"  says  I,  cheerful 
like.  "  Perfect  pictur'  uv  its  mother ;  kind  uv 
favors  you  round  the  lower  part  uv  the  face, 
tho'." 

I.  said  this  to  make  Bill  feel  happier.  If  I  'd 
told  the  truth,  I  'd  Ve  said  the  baby  wuz  a 
sickly,  yaller-lookin'  little  thing,  for  so  it  wuz ; 
looked  naff-starved,  too.  Could  n't  help  com- 
parin'  it  with  that  big,  fat  baby  in  its  mother's 
arms  over  the  way. 


THE   LITTLE    YALLER   BABY. 


"Bill,"  says  I,  "here's  a  ten-dollar  note  for 
the  baby,  'nd  God  bless  you  !  " 

«  Thank  ye,  Mr.  Goodhue,"  says  he,  'nd  he 
choked  all  up  as  he  moved  off  with  that  yaller 
little  baby  in  his  arms.  It  warn't  very  fur  up 
the  road  he  wuz  goin',  'nd  he  found  a  seat  in 
one  uv  the  front  cars. 

But  along  about  an  hour  after  that  back  come 
Bill,  moseyin'  through  the  car  like  he  wuz  huntin' 
for  somebody.  Seemed  like  he  wuz  in  trubble 
and  wuz  huntin'  for  a  friend. 

"Anything  I  kin  do  for  you,  Bill?"  says  I, 
but  he  did  n't  make  no  answer.  All  of  a  suddint 
he  sot  his  eyes  on  the  prutty  lady  that  had  the 
fat  baby  sleepin'  in  her  arms,  'nd  he  made  a 
break  for  her  like  he  wuz  crazy.  He  took  off 
his  hat  'nd  bent  down  over  her  'nd  said  some- 
thin'  none  uv  the  rest  uv  us  could  hear.  The 
lady  kind  uv  started  like  she  wuz  frightened,  'nd 
then  she  looked  up  at  Bill  'nd  looked  him  right 
square  in  the  countenance.  She  saw  a  tall, 
ganglin',  awkward  man,  with  long  yaller  hair  'ml 
frowzy  beard,  'nd  she  saw  that  he  wuz  tremblin' 
'nd  hed  tears  in  his  eyes.  She  looked  down  at 
the  fat  baby  in  her  arms,  'nd  then  she  looked 


240  THE    LITTLE    YALLER   BABY. 

out'n  the  winder  at  the  great  stretch  uv  prairie 
land,  'nd  seemed  like  she  wuz  lookin'  off  further  'n 
the  rest  uv  us  could  see.  Then,  at  last,  she 
turnt  around  'nd  said,  "  Yes,"  to  Bill,  'nd  Bill 
went  off  into  the  front  car  ag'in. 

None  uv  the  rest  uv  us  knew  what  all  this 
meant,  but  in  a  minnit  Bill  come  back  with  his 
little  yaller  baby  in  his  arms,  'nd  you  never 
heerd  a  baby  squall  'nd  carry  on  like  that  baby 
wuz  squallin'  'nd  carryin'  on.  Fact  is,  the  little 
yaller  baby  was  hungry,  hungrier 'n  a  wolf, 
'nd  there  wuz  its  mother  dead  in  the  car  up 
ahead  'nd  its  gran'ma  a  good  piece  up  the  road. 
What  did  the  lady  over  the  way  do  but  lay  her 
own  sleepin'  baby  down  on  the  seat  beside  her 
'nd  take  Bill's  little  yaller  baby  'nd  hold  it  on 
one  arm  'nd  cover  up  its  head  'nd  her  shoulder 
with  a  shawl,  jist  like  she  had  done  with  the 
fat  baby  not  long  afore.  Bill  never  looked  at 
her ;  he  took  off  his  hat  and  held  it  in  his  hand, 
'nd  turnt  around  'nd  stood  guard  over  that 
mother,  'nd  I  reckon  that  ef  any  man  hed  darst 
to  look  that  way  jist  then  Bill  would  Ve  cut 
his  heart  out. 

The  little   yaller  baby  did  n't  cry  very  long. 


THE   LITTLE    YALLER   BABY.  24! 

Seemed  like  it  knowed  there  wuz  a  mother 
holdin'  it,  —  not  its  own  mother,  but  a  woman 
whose  life  hed  been  hallowed  by  God's  blessin' 
with  the  love  'nd  the  purity  'nd  the  sanctity  uv 
motherhood. 

Why,  I  would  n't  hev  swapped  that  sight  uv 
Bill  an'  them  two  babies  'nd  that  sweet  woman 
for  all  the  cattle  in  Texas  !  It  jest  made  me 
know  that  what  I  'd  allus  thought  uv  wimmin  was 
gospel  truth.  God  bless  that  lady  !  I  say,  wher 
ever  she  is  to-day,  'nd  God  bless  all  wimmin 
folks,  for  they  're  all  alike  in  their  unselfishness 
'nd  gentleness  'nd  love  ! 

Bill  said,  "  God  bless  ye  !  "  too,  when  she 
handed  him  back  his  poor  little  yaller  baby. 
The  little  creeter  wuz  fast  asleep,  'nd  Bill  darsent 
speak  very  loud  for  fear  he  M  wake  it  up.  But 
his  heart  wuz  way  up  in  his  mouth  when  he  says 
"  God  bless  ye  !  "  to  that  dear  lady  ;  'nd  then  he 
added,  like  he  wanted  to  let  her  know  that  he 
meant  to  pay  her  back  when  he  could  :  "  I  '11 
do  the  same  for  you  some  time,  marm,  if  I 
kin." 

1888. 

16 


THE   CYCLOPEEDY. 


T  1  AVIN'  lived  next  door  to  the  Hobart  place 
•*•"••  f r  goin'  on  thirty  years,  I  calc'late  that 
I  know  jest  about  ez  much  about  the  case  ez  any 
body  else  now  on  airth,  exceptin'  perhaps  it 's  ol' 
Jedge  Baker,  and  he 's  so  plaguey  old  'nd  so 
powerful  feeble  that  he  don't  know  nothin'. 

It  seems  that  in  the  spring  uv  '47  —  the  year 
that  Cy  Watson's  oldest  boy  wuz  drownded  in 
West  River  —  there  come  along  a  book  agent 
sellin'  volyumes  'nd  tracks  f  r  the  diffusion  uv 
knowledge,  'nd  havin'  got  the  recommend  of  the 
minister  'nd  uv  the  select  men,  he  done  an  all- 
fired  big  business  in  our  part  uv  the  county.  His 
name  wuz  Lemuel  Higgins,  'nd  he  wuz  ez  likely 
a  talker  ez  I  ever  heerd,  barrin'  Lawyer  Conkey, 
'nd  everybody  allowed  that  when  Conkey  wuz 
round  he  talked  so  fast  that  the  town  pump  ud 
have  to  be  greased  every  twenty  minutes. 


246 


THE   CYCLOP EEDY. 


One  of  the  first  uv  our  folks  that  this  Lemuel 
Higgins  struck  wuz  Leander  Hobart.  Leander 
had  jest  marr'd  one  uv  the  Peasley  girls,  'nd  had 
moved  into  the  old  homestead  on  the  Plainville 
road,  —  old  Deacon  Hobart  havin'  give  up  the 
place  to  him,  the  other  boys  havin'  moved  out 
West  (like  a  lot  o'  darned  fools  that  they  wuz  !). 
Leander  wuz  feelin'  his  oats  jest  about  this  time, 
'nd  nuthin'  wuz  too  good  f  r  him. 

"  Hattie,"  sez  he,  "  I  guess  I  '11  have  to  lay  in 
a  few  books  fr  readin'  in  the  winter  time,  'nd 
I  Ve  half  a  notion  to  subscribe  f  r  a  cyclopeedy. 
Mr.  Higgins  here  says  they  're  invalerable  in  a 
family,  and  that  we  orter  have  'em,  bein'  as  how 
we  're  likely  to  have  the  fam'ly  bime  by." 

"Lor's  sakes,  Leander.,  how  you  talk!"  sez 
Hattie,  blushin'  all  over,  ez  brides  alters  does  to 
neern  tell  uv  sich  things. 

Waal,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  Leander 
bargained  with  Mr.  Higgins  for  a  set  uv  them 
cyclopeedies,  'nd  he  signed  his  name  to  a  long 
printed  paper  that  showed  how  he  agreed  to  take 
a  cyclopeedy  oncet  in  so  often,  which  wuz  to  be 
ez  often  ez  a  new  one  uv  the  volyumes  wuz 
printed.  A  cyclopeedy  is  n't  printed  all  at  oncet, 


THE   CYCLOPEEDY.  247 


because  that  would  make  it  cost  too  much  ;  con- 
sekently  the  man  that  gets  it  up  has  it  strung 
along  fur  apart,  so  as  to  hit  folks  oncet  every 
year  or  two,  and  gin'rally  about  harvest  time. 
So  Leander  kind  uv  liked  the  idee,  and  he  signed 
the  printed  paper  'nd  made  his  affidavit  to  it 
afore  Jedge  Warner. 

The  fust  volyume  of  the  cyclopeedy  stood  on 
a  shelf  in  the  old  seckertary  in  the  settin'-room 
about  four  months  before  they  had  any  use  f  r  it. 
One  night  'Squire  Turner's  son  come  over  to 
visit  Leander  'nd  Hattie,  and  they  got  to  talkin' 
about  apples,  'nd  the  sort  uv  apples  that  wuz 
the  best.  Leander  allowed  that  the  Rhode 
Island  greenin'  wuz  the  best,  but  Hattie  and  the 
Turner  boy  stuck  up  f'r  the  Roxbury  russet,  un 
til  at  last  a  happy  idee  struck  Leander,  and  sez 
he  :  "  We  '11  leave  it  to  the  cyclopeedy,  b'gosh  ! 
Whichever  one  the  cyclopeedy  sez  is  the  best 
will  settle  it." 

"  But  you  can't  find  out  nothin'  'bout  Rox 
bury  russets  nor  Rhode  Island  greenin's  in  our 
cyclopeedy,"  sez  Hattie. 

"Why  not,  I  'd  like  to  know?  "  sez  Leander, 
kind  uv  indignant  like. 


248 


THE   CYCLOPEEDY. 


"  'Cause  ours  haint  got  down  to  the  R  yet," 
sez  Hattie.  "  All  ours  tells  about  is  things  be- 
ginnin'  with  A." 

"Well,  aint  we  talkin'  about  Apples?"  sez 
Leander.  "  You  aggervate  me  terrible,  Hattie, 
by  insistin'  on  knowin'  what  you  don't  know 
nothin'  'bout." 

Leander  went  to  the  seckertary  'nd  took  down 
the  cyclopeedy  'nd  hunted  all  through  it  f'r 
Apples,  but  all  he  could  find  wuz  "  Apple  —  See 
Pomology." 

"  How  in  thunder  kin  I  see  Pomology,"  sez 
Leander,  "  when  there  aint  no  Pomology  to  see  ? 
Gol  durn  a  cyclopeedy,  anyhow  !  " 

And  he  put  the  volyume  back  onto  the  shelf 
'nd  never  sot  eyes  into  it  agin. 

That 's  the  way  the  thing  run  f  r  years  'nd 
years.  Leander  would  Ve  gin  up  the  plaguey 
bargain,  but  he  couldn't;  he  had  signed  a 
printed  paper  'nd  had  swore  to  it  afore  a  justice 
of  the  peace.  Higgins  would  have  had  the  law 
on  him  if  he  had  throwed  up  the  trade. 

The  most  aggervatin'  feature  uv  it  all  wuz  that 
a  new  one  uv  them  cussid  cyclopeedies  wuz  allus 
sure  to  show  up  at  the  wrong  time,  —  when 


THE   CYCLOPEEDY.  249 

Leander  wuz  hard  up  or  had  jest  been  afflicted 
some  way  or  other.  His  barn  burnt  down  two 
nights  afore  the  volyume  containin'  the  letter  B 
arrived,  and  Leander  needed  all  his  chink  to  pay 
f  r  lumber,  but  Higgins  sot  back  on  that  affidavit 
and  defied  the  life  out  uv  him. 

"  Never  mind,  Leander,"  sez  his  wife,  soothin' 
like,  "  it 's  a  good  book  to  have  in  the  house, 
anyhow,  now  that  we  've  got  a  baby." 

"  That 's  so,"  sez  Leander,  "  babies  does  begin 
with  B,  don't  it?" 

You  see  their  fust  baby  had  been  born ;  they 
named  him  Peasley,  —  Peasley  Hobart,  —  after 
Hattie's  folks.  So,  seein'  as  how  it  wuz  payin' 
f  r  a  book  that  told  about  babies,  Leander  did  n't 
begredge  that  five  dollars  so  very  much  after  all. 

"  Leander,"  sez  Hattie  one  forenoon,  "  that  B 
cyclopeedy  aint  no  account.  There  aint  nothin' 
in  it  about  babies  except  *  See  Maternity  '  !  " 

"Waal,  I'll  be  gosh  durned  !"  sez  Leander. 
That  wuz  all  he  said,  and  he  could  n't  do  nothin' 
at  all,  f'r  that  book  agent,  Lemuel  Higgins,  had 
the  dead  wood  on  him,  —  the  mean,  sneakin' 
critter ! 

So  the  years  passed  on,  one  of  them  cyclo- 


25°  THE   CYCLOPEEDY. 

peedies  showin'  up  now  'nd  then,  —  sometimes 
every  two  years  'nd  sometimes  every  four,  but 
allus  at  a  time  when  Leander  found  it  pesky 
hard  to  give  up  a  fiver.  It  warn't  no  use  cussin' 
Higgins;  Higgins  just  laffed  when  Leander 
allowed  that  the  cyclopeedy  wuz  no  good  'nd 
that  he  wuz  bein'  robbed.  Meantime  Leander's 
family  wuz  increasin'  and  growin'.  Little  Sarey 
had  the  hoopin'  cough  dreadful  one  winter,  but 
the  cyclopeedy  did  n't  help  out  at  all,  'cause  all 
it  said  wuz  :  "  Hoopin'  Cough  —  See  Whoopin' 
Cough "  —  and  uv  course,  there  warn't  no 
Whoopin'  Cough  to  see,  bein'  as  how  the  W 
had  n't  come  yet ! 

Oncet  when  Hiram  wanted  to  dreen  the  home 
pasture,  he  went  to  the  cyclopeedy  to  find  out 
about  it,  but  all  he  diskivered  wuz  :  "  Drain  — 
See  Tile."  This  wuz  in  1859,  and  the  cyclo 
peedy  had  only  got  down  to  G. 

The  cow  wuz  sick  with  lung  fever  one  spell, 
and  Leander  laid  her  dyin'  to  that  cussid 
cyclopeedy,  'cause  when  he  went  to  readin' 
'bout  cows  it  told  him  to  "See  Zoology." 

But  what 's  the  use  uv  harrowin'  up  one's 
feelin's  talkin'  'nd  thinkin'  about  these  things? 


THE   CYCLOPEEDY.  25r 

Leander  got  so  after  a  while  that  the  cyclopeedy 
did  n't  worry  him  at  all :  he  grew  to  look  at  it  ez 
one  uv  the  crosses  that  human  critters  has  to 
bear  without    complainin'  through  this  vale  uv 
tears.     The  only  thing  that  bothered   him  wuz 
the  fear  that  mebbe  he  would  n't  live  to  see  the 
last  volume,  —  to  tell  the  truth,  this  kind  uv  got 
to  be  his  hobby,  and  I  Ve  heern  him  talk  'bout 
it  many  a  time  settin'   round  the  stove  at  the 
tarvern  'nd  squirtin'  tobacco  juice  at  the  saw 
dust  box,     His  wife,  Hattie,  passed  away  with 
the  yaller  janders  the  winter  W  come,  and  all 
that  seemed  to  reconcile    Leander  to  survivin' 
her  wuz  the  prospect  uv  seein'  the  last  volyume 
uv  that  cyclopeedy.     Lemuel  Higgins,  the  book 
agent,  had  gone  to  his  everlastin'  punishment ; 
but  his  son,  Hiram,  had  succeeded  to  his  father's 
business  'nd  continued  to  visit  the  folks  his  old 
man   had   roped    in.     By    this    time   Leander's 
children  had  growed  up  ;  all  on  'em  wuz  marr'd, 
and  there  wuz  numeris  grandchildren  to  amuse 
the  ol'  gentleman.     But  Leander  wuz  n't  to  be 
satisfied  with  the  common  things  uv  airth  ;  he 
did  n't  seem  to  take  no  pleasure  in  his  grand 
children  like  most  men  do ;  his  mind  wuz  allers 


252  THE   CYCLOPEEDY. 

sot  on  somethin'  else,  —  for  hours  'nd  hours, 
yes,  all  day  long,  he  'd  set  out  on  the  front  stoop 
lookin'  wistfully  up  the  road  for  that  book  agent 
to  come  along  with  a  cyclopeedy.  He  did  n't 
want  to  die  till  he  'd  got  all  the  cyclopeedies  his 
contract  called  for;  he  wanted  to  have  every 
thing  straightened  out  before  he  passed  away. 

When  — oh,  how  well  I  recollect  it  — when 
Y  come  along  he  wuz  so  overcome  that  he  fell 
over  in  a  fit  uv  paralysis,  'nd  the  old  gentleman 
never  got  over  it.  For  the  next  three  years  he 
drooped  'nd  pined,  and  seemed  like  he  could  n't 
hold  out  much  longer.  Finally  he  had  to  take  to 
his  bed, — he  was  so  old  'nd  feeble,  —  but  he 
made  'em  move  the  bed  up  aginst  the  winder  so 
he  could  watch  for  that  last  volyume  of  the 
cyclopeedy. 

The  end  come  one  balmy  day  in  the  spring 
uv  '87.  His  life  wuz  a-ebbin'  powerful  fast; 
the  minister  wuz  there,  'nd  me,  'nd  Dock  Wil 
son,  'nd  Jedge  Baker,  'nd  most  uv  the  fam'ly. 
Lovin'  hands  smoothed  the  wrinkled  forehead  'nd 
breshed  back  the  long,  scant,  white  hair,  but  the 
eyes  of  the  dyin'  man  wuz  sot  upon  that  piece  uv 
road  down  which  the  cyclopeedy  man  allus  come. 


THE   CYCLOPEEDY.  253 

All  to  oncet  a  bright  'nd  joyful  look  come 
into  them  eyes,  'nd  ol'  Leander  riz  up  in  bed  'nd 
sez,  "  It 's  come  !  " 

"What  is  it,  Father?"  asked  his  daughter 
Sarey,  sobbin'  like. 

"Hush,"  sez  the  minister,  solemnly;  "he 
sees  the  shinin'  gates  uv  the  Noo  Jerusalum." 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  aged  man ;  "  it  is  the 
cyclopeedy  —  the  letter  Z  — it's  comin' !  " 

And,  sure  enough  !  the  door  opened,  and  in 
walked  Higgins.  He  tottered  rather  than 
walked,  f  r  he  had  grovved  old  'nd  feeble  in  his 
wicked  perfession. 

"  Here  's  the  Z  cyclopeedy,  Mr.  Hobart,"  says 
Higgins. 

Leander  clutched  it;  he  hugged  it  to  his 
pantin'  bosom ;  then  stealin'  one  pale  hand 
under  the  piller  he  drew  out  a  faded  bank-note 
'nd  gave  it  to  Higgins. 

"  I  thank  Thee  for  this  boon,"  sez  Leander, 
rollin'  his  eyes  up  devoutly;  then  he  gave  a 
deep  sigh. 

"  Hold  on,"  cried  Higgins,  excitedly,  "  you  Ve 
made  a  mistake, —  it  is  n't  the  last  —  " 

But  Leander  did  n't  hear  him  —  his  soul  hed 


2 54  TffE   CYCLOPEEDY. 

fled  from  its   mortal  tenement  'nd   bed  soared 
rejoicin'  to  realms  uv  everlastin'  bliss. 

"He     is      no     more,"     sez     Dock    Wilson, 
metaphorically. 

"  Then  who  are  his  heirs?  "  asked  that  mean 
critter   Higgins. 

"We  be,"  sez  the  family. 
"  Do  you  conjointly  and  severally  acknowledge 
and  assume  the  obligation  of  deceased  to  me?  " 
he  asked  'em. 

"What  obligation?"  asked  Peasley  Hobart, 
stern  like. 

"  Deceased  died  owin'  me  f'r  a  cyclopeedy  !  " 
sez  Higgins. 

"  That 's  a  lie  !  "  sez  Peasley.     "  We  all  seen 
him  pay  you  for  the  Z  !  " 

"But    there's    another    one    to   come,"    sez 
Higgins. 

"  Another?  "  they  all  asked. 
"  Yes,  the  index  !  "  sez  he. 
So  there  wuz,  and  I  '11  be  eternally  goll  durned 
if  he  aint  a-suin'  the  estate  in  the  probate  court 
now  f  r  the  price  uv  it ! 

1889. 


DOCK    STEBBINS. 


M 


GST  everybody  liked  Dock  Stebbins,  fur  all 
he  wuz  the  durnedest  critter  that  ever 
lived  to  play  jokes  on  folks  !  Seems  like  he 
wuz  born  jokin'  'nd  kep'  it  up  all  his  life.  Ol' 
Mrs.  Stebbins  used  to  tell  how  when  the  Dock 
wuz  a  baby  he  use  to  wake  her  up  haff  a  dozen 
times  un  a  night  cryin'  like  he  wuz  hungry,  'nd 
when  she  turnt  over  in  bed  to  him  he  wud  laff 
'nd  coo  like  he  wuz  sayin',  "  No,  thank  ye  —  I 
wuz  only  foolin'  !  " 

His  mother  allus  thought  a  heap  uv  the  Dock, 
'nd  she  allus  put  up  with  his  jokes  'nd  things 
without  grumblin' ;  said  it  warn't  his  fault  that 
he  wuz  so  full  uv  tricks  'nd  funny  business; 
kind  uv  took  the  responsibility  uv  it  onto  herself, 
because,  as  she  allowed,  she  'd  been  to  a  circus 
jest  afore  he  wuz  born. 
17 


DOCK  STEBBINS. 


Nothin'   tickled  the   Dock    more  'n  to  worry 
folks,  —  not  in  a  mean  way,  but  jest  to  sort  uv 
bother  'em.     Use  to  hang  round  the  post-office 
'nd  pertend  to  have  fits,  —  sakes  alive  !  but  how 
that    scared   the  women   folks.     One    day  who 
should  come  along  but  ol'  Sue  Perkins  ;  Sue  wuz 
suspicioned  of  takin'  a  nip  uv  likker  on  the  quiet 
now  'nd  then,  but  nobody  had  ever  ketched  her 
at  it.     Wall,  the  Dock  he  had  one  uv  his  fits  jest 
as  Sue  hove  in  sight,  'nd  Lem  Thompson  (who 
stood  in  with   Dock   in  all    his   deviltry)   leant 
over  Dock  while  he  wuz  wallerin'  'nd  pertend- 
ing  to  foam  at  the  mouth,  and  Lem  cried  out  : 
"  Nothink  will  fetch  him  out'n   this  turn  but  a 
drink    uv   brandy."      Sue,    who    wuz    as    kind- 
hearted  a   old    maid    as    ever  superntended    a 
strawberry   festival,  whipped  a  bottle  out'n  her 
bag  'nd  says  :   "  Here  you  be,  Lem,  but  don't 
let    him    swaller    the   bottle."     Folks   bothered 
Sue  a  heap  'bout  this  joke  till  she  moved  down 
into  Texas  to  teach  school. 

Dock  had  a  piece  uv  wood  'bout  two  inches 
long,  —  maybe  three  :  it  wuz  black  'nd  stubby 
'nd  looked  jest  like  the  butt  uv  a  cigar.  No 
body  but  Dock  wud  ever  hev  thought  uv  sech  a 


DOCK  STEBBINS.  259 

fool  thing,  but  Dock  use  to  go  round  with  that 
thing  in  his  mouth  like  it  wuz  a  cigar,  and  when 
he  'd  meet  a  man  who  wuz  smokin'  he  'd  say  : 
«  Excuse  me,  but  will  you  please  to  gimme  a 
light?"  Then  the  man  wud  hand  over  his 
cigar,  and  Dock  wud  plough  that  wood  stub  uv 
his'n  around  in  the  lighted  cigar  and  would  per- 
tend  to  puff  away  till  he  had  put  the  real  cigar 
out,  'nd  then  Dock  wud  hand  the  cigar  back, 
savin',  kind  uv  regretful  like  :  "  You  don't  seem 
to  have  much  uv  a  light  there ;  I  reckon  I  '11 
wait  till  I  kin  git  a  match."  You  kin  imagine 
how  that  other  feller's  cigar  tasted  when  he 
lighted  it  agin.  Dock  tried  it  on  me  oncet,  'nd 
when  I  lighted  up  agin  seemed  like  I  wuz  smokin' 
a  piece  uv  rope  or  a  liver  pad. 

One  time  Dock  'nd  Lem  Thompson  went 
over  to  Peory  on  the  railroad,  'nd  while  they  wuz 
settin'  in  the  car  in  come  two  wimmin  'nd  set 
in  the  seat  ahead  uv  'em.  All  uv  a  suddint 
Dock  nudged  Lem  and  sez,  jest  loud  enuff  fur 
the  wimmin  to  hear:  "I  didn't  git  round  till 
after  it  wuz  over,  but  I  never  see  sech  a  sight  as 
that  baby's  ear  wuz." 

Lem  wuz  onto  Dock's  methods,  'nd  he  knew 


DOCK  STEBBIXS. 


there  wuz  sumthin'  ahead.    So  he  says  :  "  Tough- 
lookin'  ear,  wuz  it?" 

"Wall,  I  should  remark,"  says  Dock.  "  You 
see  it  wuz  like  this  :  the  mother  had  gone  out 
into  the  back  yard  to  hang  some  clo'es  onto  the 
line,  'nd  she  laid  the  baby  down  in  the  crib. 
Baby  wan  't  more  'n  six  weeks  old,  —  helpless 
little  critter  as  ever  you  seen.  Wall,  all  to  oncet 
the  mother  heerd  the  baby  cryin',  but  bein'  busy 
with  them  clo'es  she  didn't  mind  much.  The 
baby  kep'  cryin'  'nd  cryin',  'nd  at  last  the  mother 
come  back  into  the  house,  'nd  there  she  found  a 

big  rat  gnawin'  at  one  uv  the  baby's  ears, had 

et  it  nearly  off !  There  lay  that  helpless  little 
innocent,  cryin'  'nd  writhin',  'nd  there  sat  that 
rat  with  his  long  tail,  nippin'  'nd  chewin'  at  one 
uv  them  tiny  coral  ears  —  oh,  it  wuz  offul  !  " 

"  Jest  imagine  the  feelinks  uv  the  mother  !  " 
says  Lem,  sad  like. 

"Jest  imagine  the  feelinks  uv  the  baby,"  sez 
Dock.  "  How  'd  you  like  to  be  lyin'  helpless  in 
a  crib  with  a  big  rat  gnawin'  your  ear?  " 

Wall,  all  this  conversation  wuz  fur  from  pleas 
ant  to  those  two  wimmin  in  the  front  seat,  fur 
wimmin  love  babies  'nd  hate  rats,  you  know. 


DOCK  STEBBINS. 


26l 


It  wuz  nuts  fur  Dock  'nd  Lem  to  see  the  two 
wimmin  squirm,  'nd  all  the  way  to  Peory  they 
did  n't  talk  about  nuthink  but  snakes  'nd  spiders 
'nd  mice  'nd  caterpillers.  When  the  train  got 
to  Peory  a  gentleman  met  the  two  wimmin  'nd 
sez  to  one  uv  'em  :  "  I  'm  feered  the  trip  haint 
done  you  much  good,  Lizzie,"  says  he.  "  Sakes 
alive,  John,"  says  she,  "  it 's  a  wonder  we  haint 
dead,  for  we  've  been  travellin'  forty  miles  with 
a  real  live  Beadle  dime  novvell  1  " 

'Nuther  trick  Dock  had  wuz  to  walk  'long  the 
street  behind  wimmin  'nd  tell  about  how  his 
sister  had  jest  lost  one  uv  her  diamond  earrings 
while  out  walkin'.  Jest  as  soon  as  the  wimmin 
heerd  this  they  'd  clap  their  han's  up  to  their 
ears  to  see  if  their  earrings  wuz  all  right.  Dock 
never  laffed  nor  let  on  like  he  wuz  jokin',  but 
jest  the  same  this  sort  uv  thing  tickled  him 
nearly  to  deth. 

Dock  went  up  to  Chicago  with  Jedge  Craig 
oncet,  'nd  when  they  come  back  the  jedge  said 
he  'd  never  had  such  an  offul  time  in  all  his  born 
days.  Said  that  Dock  bought  a  fool  Mother 
Goose  book  to  read  in  the  hoss-cars  jest  to  queer 
folks  ;  would  set  in  a  hoss-car  lookin'  at  the  pic- 


262  DOCK  STEBBINS. 

turs  'nd  readin'  the  verses  'nd  laffin'  like  it  wuz 
all  new  to  him  'nd  like  he  wuz  a  child.  Every 
body  sized  him  up  for  a  ejeot,  'nd  the  wimmin 
folks  shook  their  heads  'nd  said  it  wuz  orful  fur 
so  fine  a  lookin'  feller  to  be  such  a  torn  fool. 
'Nuther  thing  Dock  did  wuz  to  git  hold  uv  a  bad 
quarter  'nd  give  it  to  a  beggar,  'nd  then  foller 
the  beggar  into  a  saloon  'nd  git  him  arrested  for 
tryin'  to  pass  counterfit  money.  I  reckon  that 
if  Dock  had  stayed  in  Chicago  a  week  he  'd  have 
had  everybody  crazy. 

No,  I  don't  know  how  he  come  to  be  a  medi- 
kil  man.  He  told  me  oncet  that  when  he  found 
out  that  he  wuz  n't  good  for  anythink  he  con 
cluded  he  'd  be  a  doctor ;  but  I  reckon  that  wuz 
one  uv  his  jokes.  He  did  n't  have  much  uv  a 
practice  :  he  wuz  too  yumorous  to  suit  most  in 
valids  'nd  sick  folks.  We  had  him  tend  our  boy 
Sam  jest  oncet  when  Sam  wuz  comin'  down  with 
the  measles.  He  looked  at  Sam's  tongue  'nd 
felt  his  pulse  'nd  said  he  'd  leave  a  pill  for  Sam 
to  take  afore  goin'  to  bed. 

"How  shell  we  administer  the  pill?"  asked 
my  wife. 

"  Wall,"  says  Dock,  "  the  best  way  to  do  is  to 


DOCK  STEBBINS.  263 

git  the  boy  down  on  the  floor  'nd  hold  his 
mouth  open  'nd  gag  him  till  he  swallers  the  pill. 
After  the  pill  gits  into  his  system  it  will  explode 
in  about  ten  minits,  'nd  then  the  boy  will  feel 
better." 

This  wuz  cheerful  news  for  the  boy.  No 
human  power  cud  ha'  got  that  pill  into  Sam. 
We  never  solicited  Dock's  perfeshional  services 
agin. 

One  time  Dock  'nd  Lem  Thompson  drove 
over  to  Knoxville  to  help  Dock  Parsons  cut  a 
man's  leg  off.  About  four  miles  out  uv  town 
'nd  right  in  the  middle  uv  the  hot  peraroor  they 
met  Moses  Baker's  oldest  boy  trudgin'  along 
with  a  basket  uf  eggs.  The  Dock  whoaed  his 
hoss  'nd  called  to  the  boy,  — 

"Where  be  you  goin'  with  them  eggs?"  says 
he. 

"  Goin'  to  town  to  sell  'em,"  says  the  boy. 
"  How  much  a  dozen?  "  asked  the  Dock. 
"  'Bout  ten  cents,  I  reckon,"  says  the  boy. 
"  Putty  likely-lookin'   eggs,"   says  the  Dock ; 
'nd  he  handed  the  lines  over  to  Lem,  'nd  got 
out'n  the  buggy. 

"  How  many  hev  you  got?  "  he  asked. 


264  DOCK  STEBBINS. 

"Ten  dozen,"  says  the  boy. 

"  Git  out !  "  says  Dock.  "  There  haint  no  ten 
dozen  eggs  in  that  basket  !  " 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  says  the  boy,  "  fur  I  counted 
'em  myself." 

The  Dock  allowed  that  he  wuz  n't  goin'  to  take 
nobody's  count  on  eggs ;  so  he  got  that  fool  boy 
to  stan'  there  in  the  middle  uv  that  hot  peraroor, 
claspin'  his  two  hands  together,  while  he,  the 
Dock,  counted  them  eggs  out  'n  the  basket  one  by 
one  into  the  boy's  arms.  Ten  dozen  eggs  is  a 
heap ;  you  kin  imagine,  maybe,  how  that  boy 
looked  with  his  arms  full  uv  eggs  !  When  the 
Dock  had  got  about  nine  dozen  counted  out  he 
stopped  all  uv  a  suddint  'nd  said,  "  Wall,  come 
to  think  on  't,  I  reckon  I  don't  want  no  eggs  to 
day,  but  I  'm  jest  as  much  obleeged  to  you  fur 
yer  trouble."  And  so  he  jumped  back  into  the 
buggy  'nd  drove  off. 

Now,  maybe  that  fool  boy  wuz  n't  in  a  peck  uv 
trubble  !  There  he  stood  in  the  middle  uv  that 
hot  —  that  all-fired  hot  —  peraroor  with  his  arms 
full  uv  eggs.  What  wuz  there  fur  him  to  do  ? 
He  wuz  afraid  to  move,  lest  he  should  break 
them  eggs ;  yet  the  longer  he  stood  there  the 


DOCK  STEBBIXS.  265 


less  chance  there  wuz  of  the  warm  weather  im- 
provin'  the  eggs. 

Along  in  the  summer  of  '78  the  fever  broke 
out  down  South,  'nd  one  day  Dock  made  up  his 
mind  that  as  bizness  wuz  n't  none  too  good  at 
home  he  'd  go  down  South  'nd  see  what  he  could 
do  there.  That  wuz  jest  like  one  of  Dock's  fool 
notions,  we  all  said.  But  he  went.  In  about 
six  weeks  along  come  a  telegraph  sayin'  that 
Dock  wuz  dead,  —  he'd  died  uv  the  fever.  The 
minister  went  up  to  the  homestead  'nd  broke 
the  news  gentle  like  to  Dock's  mother  ;  but,  bless 
you  !  she  did  n't  believe  it  —  she  would  n't  believe 
it.  She  said  it  wuz  one  uv  Dock's  jokes ;  she 
did  n't  blame  him,  nuther  —  it  wuz  her  fault,  she 
allowed,  that  Dock  wuz  allus  that  way  about  mak- 
in'  fun  uv  life  'nd  death.  No,  sir ;  she  never  be 
lieved  that  Dock  wuz  dead,  but  she  allus  talked 
like  he  might  come  in  any  minnit ;  and  there  wuz 
allus  his  old  place  set  fur  him  at  the  table  'nd 
nuthin'  was^disturbed  in  his  little  room  upstairs. 
And  so  five  years  slipped  by  'nd  no  Dock  come 
back,  'nd  there  wuz  no  tidin's  uv  him.  Uv  course, 
the  rest  uv  us  knew;  but  his  mother  —  oh,  no, 
she  never  would  believe  it. 


266  DOCK  STEBBINS. 

At  last  the  old  lady  fell  sick,  and  the  doctor 
said  she  could  n't  hold  out  long,  she  wuz  so 
old  'nd  feeble.  The  minister  who  wuz  there 
said  that  she  seemed  to  sleep  from  the  evenin' 
of  this  life  into  the  mornin'  uv  the  next.  Jest 
afore  the  last  she  kind  uv  raised  up  in  bed  and 
cried  out  like  she  saw  sumthin'  that  she  loved, 
and  she  held  out  her  arms  like  there  wuz  some 
one  standin'  in  the  doorway.  Then  they  asked 
her  what  the  matter  wuz,  and  she  says,  joyful 
like  :  "  He  's  come  back,  and  there  he  Stan's  jest 
as  he  use  ter :  I  knew  he  wuz  only  jokin'  !  " 

They  looked,  but  they  saw  nuthin' ;  'nd  when 
they  went  to  her  she  wuz  dead, 

1888. 


jfairies  of 


THE  FAIRIES  OF   PESTH.1 


A  N  old  poet  walked  alone  in  a  quiet  valley. 
"^  His  heart  was  heavy,  and  the  voices  of 
Nature  consoled  him.  His  life  had  been  a  lonely 
and  sad  one.  Many  years  ago  a  great  grief  fell 
upon  him,  and  it  took  away  all  his  joy  and  all  his 
ambition.  It  was  because  he  brooded  over  his 
sorrow,  and  because  he  was  always  faithful  to  a 
memory,  that  the  townspeople  deemed  him  a 
strange  old  poet ;  but  they  loved  him  and  they 
loved  his  songs,  —  in  his  life  and  in  his  songs 
there  was  a  gentleness,  a  sweetness,  a  pathos 
that  touched  every  heart.  "  The  strange,  the 
dear  old  poet,"  they  called  him. 

Evening  was  coming  on.  The  birds  made 
no  noise  ;  only  the  whip-poor-will  repeated  over 
and  over  again  its  melancholy  refrain  in  the 
marsh  beyond  the  meadow.  The  brook  ran 

1  The  music  arranged  by  Mr.  Theodore  Thomas. 


270  THE  FAIRIES   OF  PESTH. 

slowly,  and  its  voice  was  so  hushed  and  tiny 
that  you  might  have  thought  that  it  was  saying 
its  prayers  before  going  to  bed. 

The  old  poet  came  to  the  three  lindens.  This 
was  a  spot  he  loved,  it  was  so  far  from  the 
noise  of  the  town.  The  grass  under  the  lindens 
was  fresh  and  velvety.  The  air  was  full  of  fra 
grance,  for  here  amid  the  grass  grew  violets  and 
daisies  and  buttercups  and  other  modest  wild- 
flowers.  Under  the  lindens  stood  old  Leeza, 
the  witchwife. 

"  Take  this,"  said  the  poet  to  old  Leeza,  the 
witchwife ;  and  he  gave  her  a  silver-piece. 

"  You  are  good  to  me,  master  poet,"  said  the 
witchwife.  "  You  have  always  been  good  to  me. 
I  do  not  forget,  master  poet,  I  do  not  forget." 

"Why  do  you  speak  so  strangely?"  asked 
the  old  poet.  "  You  mean  more  than  you  say. 
Do  not  jest  with  me ;  my  heart  is  heavy  with 
sorrow." 

"  I  do  not  jest,"  answered  the  witchwife.  "  I 
will  show  you  a  strange  thing.  Do  as  I  bid 
you;  tarry  here  under  the  lindens,  and  when 
the  moon  rises,  the  Seven  Crickets  will  chirp 
thrice;  then  the  Raven  will  fly  into  the  west, 


THE   FAIRIES  OF  PESTH. 


and  you  will  see  wonderful  things,  and  beautiful 
things  you  will  hear." 

Saying  this  much,  old  Leeza,  the  witchwife, 
stole  away,  and  the  poet  marvelled  at  her  words. 
He  had  heard  the  townspeople  say  that  old 
Leeza  was  full  of  dark  thoughts  and  of  evil 
deeds,  but  he  did  not  heed  these  stories. 

"They  say  the  same  of  me,  perhaps,"  he 
thought.  "  I  will  tarry  here  beneath  the  three 
lindens  and  see  what  may  come  of  this  whereof 
the  witchwife  spake." 

The  old  poet  sat  amid  the  grass  at  the  foot  of 
the  three  lindens,  and  darkness  fell  around  him. 
He  could  see  the  lights  in  the  town  away  off; 
they  twinkled  like  the  stars  that  studded  the 
sky.  The  whip-poor-will  told  his  story  over  and 
over  again  in  the  marsh  beyond  the  meadow, 
and  the  brook  tossed  and  talked  in  its  sleep,  for 
it  had  played  too  hard  that  day. 

"The  moon  is  rising,"  said  the  old  poet. 
"Now  we  shall  see." 

The  moon  peeped  over  the  tops  of  the  far-off 
hills.  She  wondered  whether  the  world  was  fast 
asleep.  She  peeped  again.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  ;  the  world  was  fast  asleep,  —  at  least  so 


2?2  THE  FAIRIES  OF  PESTH. 

thought  the  dear  old  moon.  So  she  stepped 
boldly  up  from  behind  the  distant  hills.  The 
stars  were  glad  that  she  came,  for  she  was  in 
deed  a  merry  old  moon. 

The  Seven  Crickets  lived  in  the  hedge.  They 
were  brothers,  and  they  made  famous  music. 
When  they  saw  the  moon  in  the  sky  they  sang 
"  chirp-chirp,  chirp-chirp,  chirp-chirp,"  three 
times,  just  as  old  Leeza,  the  witchwife,  said  they 
would. 

"  Whir-r-r  !  "  It  was  the  Raven  flying  out  of 
the  oak-tree  into  the  west.  This,  too,  was  what 
the  old  witchwife  had  foretold.  "  Whir-r-r " 
went  the  two  black  wings,  and  then  it  seemed 
as  if  the  Raven  melted  into  the  night.  Now, 
this  was  strange  enough,  but  what  followed  was 
stranger  still. 

Hardly  had  the  Raven  flown  away,  when  out 
from  their  habitations  in  the  moss,  the  flowers, 
and  the  grass  trooped  a  legion  of  fairies,  —  yes, 
right  there  before  the  old  poet's  eyes  appeared, 
as  if  by  magic,  a  mighty  troop  of  the  dearest 
little  fays  in  all  the  world. 

Each  of  these  fairies  was  about  the  height  of 
a  cambric  needle.  The  lady  fairies  were,  of 


THE  FAIRIES   OF  PESTH.  273 

course,  not  so  tall  as  the  gentleman  fairies,  but 
all  were  of  quite  as  comely  figure  as  you  could 
expect  to  find  even  among  real  folk.  They 
were  quaintly  dressed  ;  the  ladies  wearing  quilted 
silk  gowns  and  broad-brim  hats  with  tiny  feathers 
in  them,  and  the  gentlemen  wearing  curious  lit 
tle  knickerbockers,  with  silk  coats,  white  hose, 
ruffled  shirts,  and  dainty  cocked  hats. 

"  If  the  witchwife  had  not  foretold  it  I 
should  say  that  I  dreamed,"  thought  the  old 
poet.  But  he  was  not  frightened.  He  had 
never  harmed  the  fairies,  therefore  he  feared  no 
evil  from  them. 

One  of  the  fairies  was  taller  than  the  rest,  and 
she  was  much  more  richly  attired.  It  was  not 
her  crown  alone  that  showed  her  to  be  the 
queen.  The  others  made  obeisance  to  her  as 
she  passed  through  the  midst  of  them  from  her 
home  in  the  bunch  of  red  clover.  Four  dainty 
pages  preceded  her,  carrying  a  silver  web  which 
had  been  spun  by  a  black-and-yellow  garden 
spider  of  great  renown.  This  silver  web  the 
four  pages  spread  carefully  over  a  violet  leaf, 
and  thereupon  the  queen  sat  down.  And  when 
she  was  seated  the  queen  sang  this  little  song  : 
18 


274  THE  FAIRIES  OF  PESTH. 

"  From  the  land  of  murk  and  mist 

Fairy  folk  are  coming 
To  the  mead  the  dew  has  kissed, 
And  they  dance  where'er  they  list 
To  the  cricket's  thrumming. 

"  Circling  here  and  circling  there, 
Light  as  thought  and  free  as  air, 
Hear  them  cry,  '  Oho,  oho,' 
As  they  round  the  rosey  go. 

"  Appleblossom,  Summerdew, 

Thistleblow,  and  Ganderfeather ! 
Join  the  airy  fairy  crew 

Dancing  on  the  sward  together  ! 
Till  the  cock  on  yonder  steeple 

Gives  all  faery  lusty  warning, 
Sing  and  dance,  my  little  people,  — 

Dance  and  sing  '  Oho  '  till  morning !  " 

The  four  little  fairies  the  queen  called  to  must 
have  been  loitering.  But  now  they  came  scam 
pering  up,  —  Ganderfeather  behind  the  others, 
for  he  was  a  very  fat  and  presumably  a  very 
lazy  little  fairy. 

"  The  elves  will  be  here  presently,"  said  the 
queen,  "  and  then,  little  folk,  you  shall  dance  to 
your  heart's  content.  Dance  your  prettiest  to 
night,  for  the  good  old  poet  is  watching  you." 

"Ah,  little  queen,"  cried  the  old  poet,  "you 
see  me,  then?  I  thought  to  watch  your  revels 


THE   FAIRIES  OF  PESTH. 


unbeknown  to  you.  But  I  meant  you  no  dis 
respect,  —  indeed,  I  meant  you  none,  for  surely 
no  one  ever  loved  the  little  folk  more  than  I." 

"We  know  you  love  us,  good  old  poet,"  said 
the  little  fairy  queen,  "  and  this  night  shall  give 
you  great  joy  and  bring  you  into  wondrous  fame." 

These  were  words  of  which  the  old  poet  knew 
not  the  meaning  ;  but  we,  who  live  these  many 
years  after  he  has  fallen  asleep,  —  we  know  the 
meaning  of  them. 

Then,  surely  enough,  the  elves  came  troop 
ing  along.  They  lived  in  the  further  meadow, 
else  they  had  come  sooner.  They  were  some 
what  larger  than  the  fairies,  yet  they  were  very 
tiny  and  very  delicate  creatures.  The  elf  prince 
had  long  flaxen  curls,  and  he  was  arrayed  in  a 
wonderful  suit  of  damask  web,  at  the  manufac 
ture  of  which  seventy-seven  silkworms  had 
labored  for  seventy-seven  days,  receiving  in 
payment  therefor  as  many  mulberry  leaves  as 
seven  blue  beetles  could  carry  and  stow  in  seven 
times  seven  sunny  days.  At  his  side  the  elf 
prince  wore  a  sword  made  of  the  sting  of  a  yel 
low-jacket,  and  the  hilt  of  this  sword  was  studded 
with  the  eyes  of  unhatched  dragon-  flies,  these 


276  THE  FAIRIES  OF  PESTH. 

brighter  and  more  precious  than  the  most  costly 
diamonds. 

The  elf  prince  sat  beside  the  fairy  queen. 
The  other  elves  capered  around  among  the 
fairies.  The  dancing  sward  was  very  light,  for 
a  thousand  and  ten  glowworms  came  from  the 
marsh  and  hung  their  beautiful  lamps  over  the 
spot  where  the  little  folk  were  assembled.  If 
the  moon  and  the  stars  were  jealous  of  that  soft, 
mellow  light,  they  had  good  reason  to  be. 

The  fairies  and  elves  circled  around  in  lively 
fashion.  Their  favorite  dance  was  the  ring- 
round-a-rosy  which  many  children  nowadays 
dance.  But  they  had  other  measures,  too,  and 
they  danced  them  very  prettily. 

"  I  wish,"  said  the  old  poet,  "I  wish  that  I 
had  my  violin  here,  for  then  I  would  make 
merry  music  for  you." 

The  fairy  queen  laughed.  "  We  have  music  of 
our  own,"  she  said,  "and  it  is  much  more  beau 
tiful  than  even  you,  dear  old  poet,  could  make." 

Then,  at  the  queen's  command,  each  gentle 
man  elf  offered  his  arm  to  a  lady  fairy,  and  each 
gentleman  fairy  offered  his  arm  to  a  lady  elf, 
and  so,  all  being  provided  with  partners,  these 


THE  FAIRIES  OF  PESTH. 


277 


little  people  took  their  places  for  a  waltz.  The 
fairy  queen  and  the  elf  prince  were  the  only 
ones  that  did  not  dance  ;  they  sat  side  by  side 
on  the  violet  leaf  and  watched  the  others.  The 
hoptoad  was  floor  manager ;  the  green  burdock 
badge  on  his  breast  showed  that. 

"  Mind    where    you    go  —  don't   jostle    each  . 
other,"  cried  the  hoptoad,  for  he  was  an  exceed 
ingly  methodical    fellow,  despite    his    habit    of 
jumping  at  conclusions. 

Then,  when  all  was  ready,  the  Seven  Crickets 
went  "  chirp-chirp,  chirp-chirp,  chirp-chirp," 
three  times,  and  away  flew  that  host  of  little 
fairies  and  little  elves  in  the  daintiest  waltz 
imaginable  :  - 


278 


THE  FAIRIES  OF  PESTH. 


The  old  poet  was  delighted.  Never  before 
had  he  seen  such  a  sight;  never  before  had 
he  heard  so  sweet  music.  Round  and  round 
whirled  the  sprite  dancers;  the  thousand  and 
ten  glowworms  caught  the  rhythm  of  the  music 
that  floated  up  to  them,  and  they  swung  their 
lamps  to  and  fro  in  time  with  the  fairy  waltz. 
The  plumes  in  the  hats  of  the  cunning  little 
ladies  nodded  hither  and  thither,  and  the  tiny 
swords  of  the  cunning  little  gentlemen  bobbed 
this  way  and  that  as  the  throng  of  dancers 
swept  now  here,  now  there.  With  one  tiny  foot, 
upon  which  she  wore  a  lovely  shoe  made  of  a 
tanned  flea's  hide,  the  fairy  queen  beat  time, 
yet  she  heard  every  word  which  the  gallant  elf 
prince  said.  So,  with  the  fairy  queen  blushing, 
the  mellow  lamps  swaying,  the  elf  prince  wooing, 
and  the  throng  of  little  folk  dancing  hither  and 
thither,  the  fairy  music  went  on  and  on  :  — 


THE  FAIRIES  OF  PESTH. 


279 


E£ESSj 
E^QiS 


"  Tell  me,  my  fairy  queen,"  cried  the  old 
poet,  "  whence  comes  this  fairy  music  which  I 
hear?  The  Seven  Crickets  in  the  hedge  are 
still,  the  birds  sleep  in  their  nests,  the  brook 
dreams  of  the  mountain  home  it  stole  away  from 
yester  morning.  Tell  me,  therefore,  whence 
comes  this  wondrous  fairy  music,  and  show  me 
the  strange  musicians  that  make  it." 


280 


THE  FAIRIES  OF  PESTH. 


"  Look  to  the  grass  and  the  flowers,"  said  the 
fairy  queen.  "  In  every  blade  and  in  every 
bud  lie  hidden  notes  of  fairy  music.  Each 
violet  and  daisy  and  buttercup,  —  every  modest 
wild-flower  (no  matter  how  hidden)  gives  glad 
response  to  the  tinkle  of  fairy  feet.  Dancing 
daintily  over  this  quiet  sward  where  flowers  dot 
the  green,  my  little  people  strike  here  and  there 
and  everywhere  the  keys  which  give  forth  the 
harmonies  you  hear." 

Long  marvelled  the  old  poet.  He  forgot  his 
sorrow,  for  the  fairy  music  stole  into  his  heart 
and  soothed  the  wound  there.  The  fairy  host 
swept  round  and  round,  and  the  fairy  music 
went  on  and  on. 


'I HE   FAIRIES   OF  PESTH. 


28l 


"Why  may  I  not  dance?"  asked  a  piping 
voice.  "  Please,  dear  queen,  may  I  not  dance, 
too?" 

It  was  the  little  hunchback  that  spake,  —  the 
little  hunchback  fairy  who,  with  wistful  eyes,  had 
been  watching  the  merry  throng  whirl  round  and 
round. 

"  Dear  child,  thou  canst  not  dance,"  said  the 


282  THE  FAIRIES   OF  PESTH. 

fairy  queen,  tenderly ;  "  thy  little  limbs  are 
weak.  Come,  sit  thou  at  my  feet,  and  let  me 
smooth  thy  fair  curls  and  stroke  thy  pale 
cheeks." 

"  Believe  me,  dear  queen,"  persisted  the  little 
hunchback,  "  I  can  dance,  and  quite  prettily, 
too.  Many  a  time  while  the  others  made  merry 
here  I  have  stolen  away  by  myself  to  the  brook- 
side  and  danced  alone  in  the  moonlight,  — 
alone  with  my  shadow.  The  violets  are  thickest 
there.  '  Let  thy  halting  feet  fall  upon  us,  Little 
Sorrowful,'  they  whispered,  '  and  we  shall  make 
music  for  thee.'  So  there  I  danced,  and  the 
violets  sang  their  songs  for  me.  I  could  hear 
the  others  making  merry  far  away,  but  I  was 
merry,  too ;  for  I,  too,  danced,  and  there  was 
none  to  laugh." 

"  If  you  would  like  it,  Little  Sorrowful,"  said 
the  elf  prince,  "  I  will  dance  with  you." 

"  No,  brave  prince,"  answered  the  little 
hunchback,  "  for  that  would  weary  you.  My 
crutch  is  stout,  and  it  has  danced  with  me  be 
fore.  You  will  say  that  we  dance  very  prettily, 
—  my  crutch  and  I,  —  and  you  will  not  laugh, 
I  know." 


THE  FAIRIES  OF  PESTH.  283 

Then  the  queen  smiled  sadly ;  she  loved  the 
little  hunchback  and  she  pitied  her. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  said  the  queen. 
The  little  hunchback  was  overjoyed. 

"  I  have  to  catch  the  time,  you  see,"  said  she, 
and  she  tapped  her  crutch  and  swung  one  little 
shrunken  foot  till  her  body  fell  into  the  rhythm 
of  the  waltz. 

Far  daintier  than  the  others  did  the  little 
hunchback  dance ;  now  one  tiny  foot  and  now 
the  other  tinkled  on  the  flowers,  and  the  point 
of  the  little  crutch  fell  here  and  there  like  a  tear. 
And  as  she  danced,  there  crept  into  the  fairy 
music  a  tenderer  cadence,  for  (I  know  not  why) 
the  little  hunchback  danced  ever  on  the  violets, 
and  their  responses  were  full  of  the  music  of 
tears.  There  was  a  strange  pathos  in  the  little 
creature's  grace  ;  she  did  not  weary  of  the  dance  : 
her  cheeks  flushed,  and  her  eyes  grew  fuller,  and 
there  was  a  wondrous  light  in  them.  And  as 
the  little  hunchback  danced,  the  others  forgot 
her  limp  and  felt  only  the  heart-cry  in  the  little 
hunchback's  merriment  and  in  the  music  of  the 
voiceful  violets. 


284 


THE  FAIRIES  OF  PESTff. 


Now  all  this  saw  the  old  poet,  and  all  this 
wondrously  beautiful  music  he  heard.  And  as 
he  heard  and  saw  these  things,  he  thought  of 
the  pale  face,  the  weary  eyes,  and  the  tired 
little  body  that  slept  forever  now.  He  thought 
of  the  voice  that  had  tried  to  be  cheerful  for 
his  sake,  of  the  thin,  patient  little  hands  that 
had  loved  to  do  his  bidding,  of  the  halting 
little  feet  that  had  hastened  to  his  calling. 

"Is  it  thy  spirit,  O  my  love?"  he  wailed. 
"Is  it  thy  spirit,  O  dear,  dead  love?" 

A  mist  came  before  his  eyes,  and  his  heart 
gave  a  great  cry. 

But  the  fairy  dance  went  on  and  on.     The 


THE  FAIRIES   OF  FESTH.  285 

others  swept  to  and  fro  and  round  and  round, 
but  the  little  hunchback  danced  always  on  the 
violets,  and  through  the  other  music  there 
could  be  plainly  heard,  as  it  crept  in  and 
out,  the  mournful  cadence  of  those  tenderer 

flowers. 

And,  with  the  music  and  the  dancing,  the 
night  faded  into  morning.  And  all  at  once  the 
music  ceased  and  the  little  folk  could  be  seen 
no  more.  The  birds  cam?  from  their  nests,  the 
brook  began  to  bestir  himself,  and  the  breath  of 
the  new-born  day  called  upon  all  in  that  quiet 
valley  to  awaken. 

So  many  years  have  passed  since  the  old 
poet,  sitting  under  the  three  lindens  half  a  league 
the  other  side  of  Pesth,  saw  the  fairies  dance 
and  heard  the  fairy  music,  —  so  many  years  have 
passed  since  then,  that  had  the  old  poet  not 
left  us  an  echo  of  that  fairy  waltz  there  would  be 
none  now  to  believe  the  story  I  tell. 


Who  knows  but  that  this  very  night  the  elves 
and  the  fairies  will  dance  in  the  quiet  valley; 


286  THE   FAIRIES   OF  PESTH. 

that  Little  Sorrowful  will  tinkle  her  maimed  feet 
upon  the  singing  violets,  and  that  the  little  folk 
will  illustrate  in  their  revels,  through  which  a 
tone  of  sadness  steals,  the  comedy  and  pathos 
of  our  lives?  Perhaps  no  one  shall  see,  per 
haps  no  one  else  ever  did  see,  these  fairy  people 
dance  their  pretty  dances ;  but  we  who  have 
heard  old  Robert  Volkmann's  waltz  know  full 
well  that  he  at  least  saw  that  strange  sight  and 
heard  that  wondrous  music. 

And  you  will  know  so,  too,  when  you  have 
read  this  true  story  and  heard  old  Volkmann's 
claim  to  immortality. 

1887. 


THE   END. 


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